


Supernatural

by HarveyDangerfield, Venn



Series: Lupenport 30 Prompt Challenge [1]
Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Blood Drinking, Blood Kink, Blood and Violence, F/M, Hypnotism, Polyamory, Polybirds - Freeform, Vampire Sex, Vampire Turning, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-15
Updated: 2018-11-15
Packaged: 2019-08-24 00:18:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 29,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16629224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarveyDangerfield/pseuds/HarveyDangerfield, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Venn/pseuds/Venn
Summary: Davenport is bitten by a strange creature on a new plane, and it seems to have made him sick. The crew has different approaches to figuring out what's going on, and how to help him.(This is part of a 30-Prompt challenge, posted in no particular order)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written with the wonderful evocationing on tumblr. my tumblr is gnomedad
> 
> Lupenport is our biggest ship in the TAZ fandom and it breaks our hearts that there isn't any content for it. So we've decided to be the change we want to see in the world. 
> 
> A few things to start: in these works, the entire crew is in one big 7-way poly relationship with one another, including the Taaco twins, so that'll be referenced here and there. If that's something you'll find uncomfortable or unpleasant, I apologize. But please don't leave comments about how you don't like it, because that's just how we're going to write this series. It doesn't mean we encourage real life incest (side note, there is no twincest content in this particular fic, which is why it hasn't been tagged for having any)
> 
> Secondly, in the smut portion of all future chapters, we don't use any different language for Lup's private anatomy. That's a choice we made as authors and as gender/queer people ourselves. Again, if this upsets you I'm sorry! But that's how we're going to write it.

In all reality, it was Davenport's own fault he was in this mess. He'd given his crew a mandatory buddy-system rule for the cycle, after he'd found out that one of the two dominant lifeforms living on the surface was a race of nocturnal bloodsuckers who prowled the cities of the frightened inhabitants in search of hapless victims to drain. They're stronger and faster than average elves and humans and so on, and the only weakness they seem to have is to light-- specifically sunlight.

  
  
He'd broken his own rule, though, when he'd gone out onto the deck of the parked starblaster to check on the bond engine, which had been slightly on the fritz ever since a hit it took on the last cycle. He'd had to land the ship when the engine started whistling in an unpleasant way, and he thought they would be safe out on the outskirts of the city, the heart of which is always full of the night time predators, searching for those unlucky few who skimped on security.  Unfortunately, he'd been wrong.

  
  
The wind is knocked out of him when something pounces him from behind, and his toolbox goes clattering noisily across the deck as he's slammed into the hard wood, his arm twisted roughly behind his back so hard his shoulder is screaming. He struggles helplessly as a pale face lowers into his peripheral vision, and he gives an anguished shout of pain as fire pierces the side of his neck when long teeth bear into his flesh with a sickening crunch.

  
  
The pain never stops, that's what hits him first. He can feel it in the buzzing in the back of his skull as an arm coils around his chest and pulls him flush against a hard stone slab of a torso, cradled he were something more precious than just a snack. The pain sears, white-hot and insistent, but the thing's grip is like a vice and escape seemed nigh-impossible.

  
  
What's worse, Davenport can feel the blood leaving him. Mouth settled over the initial bite, ice-cold lips take heavy, pulling drags, deep enough that he can feel the blood receding in his toes. A sudden rush fills his head as the entire world seems to dip, and there's a slow, aching ebb of what feels like something creeping through his veins. It makes his limbs heavy and his motions slow, the buzzing in his head a constant fight to not give into. A fight that he seemed to be losing, and fast, if the pace of the creature's heavy dregs was anything to be believed.

  
  
"Did you hear something?" Magnus asks, looking across the Starblaster's lounge, at where Lup and Merle are sitting across from one another at the table, playing cards. Taako, cuddled into Magnus' side on the couch, flicks an ear up to listen for any sounds out of the ordinary.

  
  
"I didn't hear anything?" he says, glancing up at his sister to see if she'd heard whatever has Magnus' head on a swivel with his hair on end.

  
  
Lup's own ears are twitching, her chin raised from the notebook in her lap, "The Captain mentioned he was going out to check the engine, didn't he?" She asks, voice faraway, concerned. She raises the communicator clasped around her wrist to her lips, "Hey, real quick, Lucy, Merle, Barold? Cap? You wanna check in?"

  
  
"We, uh-- Me and Lucretia, I mean-- We're in the study," Barry speaks up, and Lup can hear the quiet murmur of 'What's going on?' coming from Lucretia in the background.

  
  
Lup waits for Davenport to check in. He doesn't. She and Magnus lock eyes with one another, and he's already on his feet after only a couple seconds of the silence that follows when they wait to hear their captain's voice. It might be nothing, it's probably nothing, but it's better to be safe than sorry.

  
  
And as soon as the door to the deck opens and Lup, Magnus and Merle all spill out into the night air, they are most definitely sorry. Light from inside the ship spills out, flashing in the eyes of and illuminating the figure of something pale and emaciated and hunched over Davenport, who in a last ditch effort to escape the thing's clutches, had sunk his own teeth into its arm to try and dislodge it with the pain. But either its pain tolerance is too high, or its nerves are too dead to feel pain at all, because it didn't halt the thing's drinking even slightly.

  
  
"Cap!" Magnus howls and launches himself forward first. Unarmed, but that's hardly ever stopped him before.

  
  
It's ultimately the surprise that saves Magnus from being hurt, himself. That, and his back up. Fire lashes like whips at the creature's back as Merle rushes to the thing's flank. Those icy fingers drop Davenport in astonishment at the sudden onslaught, and a rasping screech leaves the pale, decrepit beast  as Magnus collides with him in a flurry of blows and shouts.

  
  
Merle manages to get Davenport out of the path of destruction as Magnus, supported by Lup, attack the thing head on, though it fortunately doesn't last long. It screeches with a sound like a crashing car, lips bared in a furious snarl, and as Magnus grapples with the thing it finally manages to slip from his fingers, as if it were made of oil, or ice. It doesn't say anything, but it manages another unearthly howl that makes their very bones rattle, and like fog, it evaporates over the bow of the Blaster, down the side and into the night sky.

  
  
Fire crackles after it, massive meteors rattling the night sky as Lup throws magic after it, tracking it's presumed course until Merle's voice shakes her out of it-- "Lup, come on, he's bleedin' out, we gotta get him inside!"

  
  
Magnus, not needing the encouragement, scoops both dwarf and gnome up in his arms and rushes inside with Lup on his tail, slamming the doors to the deck and bolting them shut, Comm on and alarm blaring, "Barry, we need you to get us off the ground, there's been an incident-- Dav's been attacked, we gotta get airborne before more of those things hear us and come running--"

  
  
They don't wait to hear if Barry copied, Lup just chases after Magnus with a roaring in her ears. They feel the sway of the ship take off as they arrive at the sickbay, and Magnus sets Merle and Davenport down on one of the low cots, placed at just the right height for the dwarf to work. His hand has been pressed firmly to the side of Davenport's neck this whole time, covering the open wounds in the side of his jugular, but the gnome isn't looking so good.

  
  
The blood staining his teeth and mouth is nearly black, with a sheen like oil, and even now they can see black veins spreading down the gnome's throat like a sickness. He's pale as death and frozen like ice, and shivering violently. He doesn't even seem to be lucid, doesn't seem to realize they're in the room with him, despite the fact that his eyes are open and blown totally, unnaturally black.

  
  
"Get me a clean towel!" Merle barks, Magnus already scrambling to obey as the hand on Davenport's throat starts to glow with a pale green, healing energy. "Lup! Suture kit!"

  
  
Where Magnus is all action, Lup can barely look away from the mess of their Captain, laid out on the bed before them, so small and covered in viscera that was plainly sickening, and mostly his. She hears shouting like she was underwater, hazy and lackluster, until another sharp bark brings herself back to focus with harsh clarity.

  
  
"Lup, quit lookin' at the blood and help me stop it, wouldja?" Merle calls, and like that the spell is broken, and Lup ducks to the drawers against the far wall, yanking them open until she finds the suture kit and hands it to him, rushing to help warm a bath of water, fetching towels and discarding them in turn as the dwarf sets to work, the ship rising into the air a bit wobbly until they eventually steady, safely off ground and under control, even as the work in the med bay goes on, chaotic and tense.

  
  
Merle is able to stem the blood flow within a few moments, but that doesn't do much for Davenport's condition. He's still violently shivering as Merle inspects the wound. "It's deep, but clean," Merle says as he uses a blunt syringe to inject pure alcohol into the holes to make sure there's no lingering bacteria. Tears fill Davenport's eyes at the pain of the sting, but he doesn't even have the wherewithal to cry out. His tears leak into his ears, and Magnus is quick to mop them up with tissue, unable to do anything else to help.

  
  
Davenport slips in and out of consciousness, barely aware of what's going on around him. His entire body feels dull and heavy and ice cold, but the shivering his body forces him through in a desperate attempt to warm up only exhausts him. He can feel hands on him, but his eyes are so unfocused that he can't tell how many or which combination of his crew are leaned over him. He could have been surrounded by total strangers and he wouldn't have been able to tell.

  
  
"We have to get him warmed up and cleaned off," Merle says as he cuts the thread holding the wounds shut on Davenport's neck. He would have healed them up with magic, but he didn't yet know much about the creeping blackness in Davenport's veins, and he didn't want to risk sealing anything inside that needed an outlet to seep back out.

  
  
"I can do it," Lup volunteers, to no one's surprise. She looks at the black tracks creeping through Davenport's skin, the dark, overblown black circles that had become his irises. Merle and Magnus share a look that she doesn't catch, so she has nothing to ignore as she steps over and hefts the gnome up like he's nothing.

  
  
"Lukewarm water only, gentle soap, Try and keep the wounds from getting submerged entirely," Merle says as he hands Lup a small pack, "I want to keep him in here with me overnight, to make sure he's okay."

  
  
"Probably wouldn't appreciate bleeding all over his bed, either," Magnus adds, somewhat helpfully as he crosses his arms, biceps obviously bulging with the desire to help. But he didn't need to.  Lup had this covered.

  
  
Keeping Davenport close, she nods along with Merle's instructions, committing them seriously to memory before taking the small kit of gauze and bandages, for after the bath, and with that she turns and heads out and into the hall, murmuring to the man in her arms under her breath, urging him to keep his eyes open and on her, at all costs.

  
  
Davenport's consciousness comes to him in waves, and his eyes waver in and out of focus. He sees Lup's face, worried and beautiful over him, and then he sees just the shape of her, blurred in his vision. He drifts away only to come back to himself shivering and bare in her arms, and then they're both surrounded in the comforting weightless warmth of the oversized bath. It's the most lucid he's been so far, properly warm for the first time since he bit the deck. He can't think how long ago that was, now. Minutes? Hours? The concept of time is so fuzzy to him right now.

  
  
"Lup," his voice is croaking and damaged, caught in his throat like a pill. His throat is closed up with pain, with swelling, with whatever god awful black _shit_ is creeping through his veins.

  
  
"Hey, I'm here, be careful, you might not want to talk too much," Lup is immediately over him, shedding he last of her clothing before settling her ass in one of the corners of the large bath, whirlpools running gently to churn up the water, but not work it into froth. She keeps him close, in the circle of her arms as she begins to bathe him with absolute, deadset seriousness. Her fingers are gentle over his wounds, from the claw marks across his arms and sternum, to the actual, main event of that deadly-looking bite on his shoulder. She keeps him from dunking under the water entirely, propped up on her knees, but the smile she gives him shows no sort of condescending smugness.

  
  
Soapy fingers working across his arm in gentle, kneading rolls, Lup leans her head in, a wet curl hanging thickly over her eyes, "I was worried about you, but you're going to be okay," She murmurs, and can't quite meet him in the eye, her stomach turning with guilt.

  
  
"Tired," Davenport manages to choke out. His shivering is calming down now that his body is warming up in the bath, and with the shaking subsiding, it's sinking in how absolutely bone-deep exhausted he is right now. He'd even settle for just dying, if his body would let him go, but he's inherently too much of a fighter for that, and he knows his crew needs him. His breathing is labored, fatigued from all the goddamn shivering, and his vision is starting to swirl in time with the churning jets.

  
  
Her jaw works as she looks him over. They've seen the worst moments in each other by now, that's for damn sure, and this isn't even one of the worst. But still, she worries, and still, every nerve in her body aches at the thought of losing him this cycle. Lup's fingers gently tug through Davenport's hair, nails catching lightly, very lightly, at his scalp. It was the ghost of a scratch, nothing more.

  
  
"I dunno if you're allowed to sleep or not," She admits with a wince, "I-- I think maybe? So your body can regain blood? That sounds like good science. Just try and stay with me for now and I'll deliver you back to Merle where he'll fuss over you, unconscious or no."

  
  
Even as she says it, his eyes are drooping. His breathing is slowing down and evening out, but it's still sawing through his ruined throat like sandpaper. Her words get farther away, echoing and dull in his ears like he's sinking underwater, and by the time she realizes she's losing him and starts to panic, he's already unconscious.

  
  
There's a moment of panic when she thinks he's just died in her arms, but after a frantic check-over, she finds him still breathing, still beating, just sleeping. Honestly, he probably deserves the sleep, for what he's been through, and for what he'll continue to go through for the rest of the cycle. He's always so forgiving when the crew hurts themselves, but if he gets hurt, he's a mess of guilt and anger at himself all year. As if getting bloodsucked by a monster wasn't bad enough for him, he's liable to beat himself up over this for the rest of the year, too.

  
  
Lup pulls him out once she hears a snore, either worried he absolutely needs the warmth to stay unconscious or concerned about her ability to not rouse him, she holds him for what feels like hours. Fingers curl in his hair, tuck behind his ear, and when she relinquishes him into the watchful care of Merle, it's with plenty of reluctance.

  
  
"You go meditate, shut off for a bit," He offers, voice soft as he places a gentle hand on Lup's forearm, squeezing comfortably, "He'll be safe here when you wanna visit him later, okay?"

  
  
She nods and goes with a forced little smile, eyes tight as she heads back into the warmth of her room shared with her brother, unsure if she could  even focus on meditating while this worried. Taako and Magnus are already there, hunkered down on the huge bed she and Taako share, and they open their arms to her, guiding her into the safe embrace cradled between them, under the warmth of the quilts.

  
  
It never gets easier, no matter how many times they lose team mates. They're more than team mates, they're family, they're lovers. There isn't a single one of them who doesn't love and isn't loved in return by the rest of their group, deeply and intimately, down to their very souls, to every shred of breath and life and limb that makes them who they are. Despite the presence of the bond engine ever looming and comforting with its promise (or perhaps its threat) of effective immortality, it never gets any easier. 

 

Merle is up all night, watching over Davenport, soothing him with gentle healing magics applied over time, wiping the sweat from his body when he's seized with fever. The fever sets its claws in sometime around midnight and only gets worse from there, and by three in the morning, Merle is packing ice packs around Davenport to try and bring his temperature down. It's a fight until dawn, keeping a watchful eye on his fever for every change in degree. Even with ice packs in each joint, behind his neck and on his chest, swathed in ice as he is, his temperature hovers around a dangerous 109.6, a full three degrees higher than it should be.

  
  
He doesn't go to breakfast. That's, ultimately, what tips the others off that something is wrong. Merle would never skip breakfast, not intentionally, and Lup manages to get the dishes done before she half-skips her way back to the medical bay, eyes hazy and tired. Elves didn't need sleep, but they needed rest. Rest Lup didn't receive a lick of, despite her best efforts.

  
  
"Hey, Merle. Noticed you weren't at breakfast, I was wondering if something'd happened..." Lup says with a gentle knock, not waiting for an answer as she steps inside. She scans the empty beds, pristine and fitted, until her eyes land on Davenport in his, and her lips immediately twitch into a frown. "Worse?" Is all she asks as though she doesn't already know the answer.

  
  
"Worse," Merle answers. He looks exhausted, running shaking fingers through his long hair, falling out of its bun on top of his head. "He's developed a fever. Bad one, real bad. I've got to keep changing out his ice packs because he keeps _melting_ them. Speaking of, grab me a few? I'm rotating them out of the freezer," as he speaks he starts to collect the sloshy, melted packs from the gnome's armpits and behind his knees.

  
  
Lup does as she's asked, grabbing the ice packs from the freezer and giving them a cautionary squeeze. They're a bit soft, but judging by the absolutely worthless packs tucked against Davenport's skin now, they were a marked improvement. "He was too cold before the bath, he went straight from that into a fever?" She asks, anxious, her voice tight. "Can we do anything about it?" She asks, following his hand as he carefully begins repacking Davenport in ice.

  
  
"All we can do is keep his temperature down and hope it breaks," Merle shakes his head. "I'm betting this world has better things to do with itself than invent tylenol, so I've just been keeping his pain level down and making sure his fever doesn't spike. It's high, but it's been steady. I think this is all we can do."

  
  
He looks up at Lup, and she can see in his face that he's as worried as she is. His expression is grim, but he offers her a hopeful smile. Davenport pulls through more often than he doesn't, when he gets himself into situations like this. He's often the last of the crew to ever get hurt, he's so cautious and calculated, but when he does, he's usually strong enough and fights hard enough to survive. The fact that he has the lowest death toll of the entire group is both a point of pride and guilt for the gnome.

  
  
She looks at Davenport for too long a time, wordless and voiceless as she stares at him, weak and unconscious in the bed beneath her. Her heart aches to help, all the way down to the very core of her being she wants to help. Instead, she's stuck plucking half-dead, limp would-be packs of ice.

  
  
"I could do something?" Lup says slowly, softly, fingers curling around the lip of the mattress, nails sinking into the fabric there, "Fire's basically just... ice, backwards. Want me to blast it? See what sticks?"

  
  
Merle looks up at Lup uncertainly. "Maybe... practice on the deck, before you go blasting the captain? If you can figure out something with a low enough level of power, it might do him wonders. His body's clearly fighting something off, whatever that black shit was in his veins, but he can't go on like this for much longer or he'll boil from the inside out."

  
  
Lup can feel her entire body give out at that sentence, can feel her stomach and intestines fall somewhere to her feet, somewhere among the floor, for her to pick up and hopefully manage into something appropriate, watched and guarded all day as it was. Her hands find the mattress Davenport is laid upon, and very quickly she renders the entire thing motionless, frozen in place, the ice packs on Davenport's skin nothing compared to the massive one he was now laying on, weightless. "You really think keeping the temperature down will help?" She asks, voice low with concern.

  
  
Merle had thrown his hands out to stop her from just going at it, but apparently he need not have worried, and his hands drop again. He sags back on his stool, scrubbing his hands over his face with an exhausted sigh. "It can't hurt him," he says unhelpfully. "You wanna watch over him for a couple hours? If I don't catch some winks soon I'm gonna be in as bad a shape as he is."

  
  
She agrees, of course she does, and Merle is snoring within moments of his head hitting the pillow of the cot beside Davenport's. Lup watches him obsessively, checking over his vitals every 30 seconds and wiping the sweat from his body when it springs up and collects. He's absolutely drenched, even dressed only in trousers as he is, but at the very least, Lup notes, the black ichor is gone from his veins. Whether that means his body has fought it off, or absorbed it too deeply for it to show anymore, she can't be sure. Merle doesn't even know the answer to that. 


	2. Chapter 2

Davenport's condition doesn't stabilize for another few days, after that. Lup, Merle and Barry all rotate shifts, taking turns just watching Davenport. His fever finally breaks after the second day, and they change both his clothes and the sheets, absolutely soaked down to the mattress with sweat as they are, and Merle marks it as progress that they're able to slip a tee shirt onto him and tuck him under a quilt. His vitals are stable, Merle says. It's only a matter of waiting for him to wake up.

  
  
They wait. It's all they can do. Maybe it's easier now, with him practically comatose before them, the only difference being the fitful shifting his entire body occasionally does. Whether it's nightmares or a symptom of the sickness passing through, the fits are intermittent, making his body writhe and his back arch and squirm. He grunts, occasionally, as if fighting something or lifting something very, very heavy-- And every time he makes a motion, his caretakers broke the time-space continuum to reach his side, only to watch, anxiously, for a minute and relax again. It was nothing. It was always nothing.

  
  
'No change' had become a dreaded, exhausted phrase passed from shift to shift, and more often than not? Lup had to be tapped and reminded to eat and sleep, her shifts had grown too long and too arduous, a constant ebb of probing magic drawing her thin as she seeks to heal what Merle somehow cannot. She doesn't, and is only worn down for her efforts.

  
  
Lup takes to staying up at night with him, catching her sleep during the earlier hours of the day so she can still  get some work done. General work, busywork, to keep her mind off of the planet unexplored below and the unknown illness in the med bay. It's nice to work on finding a fix to the Hunger. It feels so tangible in comparison, so absolutely doable, when otherwise faced with the daunting task of waiting for Davenport to wake up, powerless to stop whatever pain he was in, only able to hope beyond hope that he would be alright at the end of it.

  
  
"Uh--  Lup?" Barry's voice crackles like gravel over the intercomm, quiet and apprehensive, not wanting to use them at this hour lest she be with those who sleep lighter, "We, uh-- You might wanna get down here, he's-- I think he's trying to talk--"

  
  
Lup, distractedly studying on the deck as she was, papers strewn over a desk, is out of her chair and down the hall before he can even finish his sentence, the only evidence she'd been there at all those same papers, scattered to the ground.

  
  
When she arrives at the sickbay, she finds him more than speaking. She's absolutely gobsmacked and frozen in the doorway, sedated into total stillness by the sight of her captain sitting upright in bed. He looks like hell, his cheeks are sunken in and his eyes are ringed with shadows, a week spent unconscious even with an IV drip is a lot of missed meals for a man who weighs only 55 pounds, but other than that he still looks like himself. Barry, Merle and Lup had seen to that, lovingly and respectfully shaving their captain and styling his hair and beard the way he wears it.

  
  
"He just sat up," Barry looks over at Lup, eyes wide as Merle shoves past her into the sickbay wearing boxers, slippers and a bath robe to check on Davenport's vitals.

  
  
Davenport is just looking around wordlessly with his hands folded hilariously too-calmly in his lap. He's looking around the room like he's seeing it for the first time, blinking just a little too hard, and when he looks up at Lup, his brow furrows like he doesn't know what he's looking at.

  
  
Lup, similarly, looks at him like something foreign, eyes wide as she simply stands in the doorway, rooted to the spot even after Merle shoves her aside to check on him. Her mouth goes dry, but he's there. Really, seriously there, and alive. Presumably, though the way he looks at her might suggest there's something else going on she can't relate to.

  
  
"Heya, Cujo," She says, her voice soft as she takes a step toward the bed, just a little apprehensive. She glances at Barry, who can only offer a bewildered shrug, pushing his crooked glasses further up the bridge of his nose. She turns back to Davenport, lips twitching into a shy little smile as she reaches out, as if to touch him, to make sure he was real-- but her fingers fall short, and she lets them settle awkwardly at her side, despite wanting to comb through his hair, to pull him close, "You really scared the shit outta us, y'know?" She didn't love the look he was giving her.

  
  
He doesn't really register her words. He hears them, but it's like reading half a page in a book and realizing that despite reading the words, none of them were actually digested or understood. She could have been speaking mandarin to him and he wouldn't have been able to tell the difference. Because louder than her words, louder than her voice, he can hear her heartbeat.

  
  
Ridiculous, he tells himself. It must be his own heartbeat, pounding in his ears. He shakes his head to try and clear the fog, and after blinking a few times he manages to put it in the back of his mind, where her heartbeat continues to thud dully in the peripheries of his awareness.

  
  
"How long have I been out?" he asks. His voice isn't as scratchy as it was the night of the attack, but it's still hoarse and thick from lack of use.

  
  
"Almost a week," Lup admits, finally settling by the small bedside table containing various medical equipment, having gone largely unused since that initial night. Her arms fold over her chest as she looks down at him, still wanting to touch him, to double and triple check for herself that he was alright. But now, sitting up, stoic as he was, it seemed... Ill-advised.

  
  
"How do ya feel?" Barry asks from the foot of Davenport's bed, eyebrows furrowed at the Captain, lips pulled into a tight frown.

  
  
"Weird," Davenport admits, shaking his head. "Probably just side effects of coming out of a coma. I feel cold. Heavy? I don't know. Weird. _Hungry_. I'm starving." he turns sideways to throw his legs over the side of the bed.

  
  
"Whoa, slow down," Merle shuffles forward to put a hand on Davenport's knee to stop him from hopping off the cot. His eyes are still glued to the screen, and he adjusts his glasses with his other hand, squinting in confusion. "Your vitals were fine this morning, but now they say your temperature is 101.4-- gnomes are supposed to run 106.6, you should be dead right now. Your heart rate is through the roof, and your blood pressure is dangerously low-- you can't be out of bed right now."

  
  
"I feel fine," Davenport protests.

  
  
In unison, Barry and Lup's lips twitch into their respective frowns, and she looks up to share a glance with the human, apprehension clear on her face. Still, she shifts upright to put a hand onto Davenport's chest, fingers firm and unrelenting. Even then, she's surprised at the strength with which he pushes back onto her, "C'mon, Cap," She chides, voice firm, "You know the rules. Doc says, we obey. Sit."

  
  
"I'm hungry," Davenport protests again, and leans back away from her hand. Something about the way she smells makes him feel weird, like his skin is buzzing. He chalks it up to the pent up nervous energy from being unconscious for a week.

  
  
"Can he eat, Merle?" Barry asks, as Merle jots down a few things from Davenport's vitals.

  
  
"What? Oh, yeah, he didn't have a gutwound so he can eat whatever he wants. Still, better take it easy, you haven't technically eaten anything in about six days. More, if you count not eating dinner the night you were attacked," Merle says, looking from his numbers with his expression still creased with confusion, before he looks back down at his work and starts muttering to himself while doing math.

  
  
"I can make some broth for you," Lup says wearily, frowning as she takes her hand back from the awkward hang in the air Davenport had left her to, fingers curling around nothing as he avoided her touch. Since when did he avoid her touch? She tries not to think about it as she bustles from the room, robe flicking as she heads toward the kitchen.

  
  
Barry frowns at her exit, glancing from the door to the Captain, raising one hand to rub at his jaw, fingers catching on stubble and grating roughly against it, "Y-You should be careful with what you eat, uh, probably. Your stomach will probably have a hard time processing solids for a few days cause of the IV... You, uh-- Cap, you sure you're okay?" He asks, voice low.

  
  
It's not just Lup. Davenport can hear Barry's heartbeat now, too, without Lup's to interfere. His anxious nature has his heart beating at a faster than normal clip, different from Lup's slow, steady thrum. He shakes his head to try and focus on Barry's words, and rubs his eyes with both hands.

  
  
"Yeah, I feel fine," he repeats. "A little weird, like I said, but that'll fade once I'm out of jail and I can get up and walk around."

  
  
Merle glances up from behind his desk and makes eye contact with Barry, beckoning him over quietly with just a look. He excuses himself to go lean over Merle's very short desk, and the dwarf lowers his voice so it can't be heard over the hum of machinery and the engine itself, so only Barry can hear.

  
  
"These numbers don't make sense," Merle murmurs to the human. "For changes this drastic-- he shouldn't even be alive right now. When he was asleep-- look, these were his vitals this morning at 4AM, that's the last time I took them before he woke up. Normal blood pressure, normal temperature, everything was steady, like it's been for days. But then look, 6AM," he lowers another paper over it, tracking the changes on a piece of see-through paper, adding a new figure to the graph. Every vital has taken a dramatic drop, from blood pressure to body temperature to BPM. "With numbers like these, he should be _comatose_ at least, on his deathbed at worst. And look at him."

  
  
Davenport, at least 30 feet away in his cot, is just sitting upright staring at the two of them with a slightly furrowed brow.

  
  
Barry, without much tact or forethought to be subtle, looks at Davenport when asked, and his own eyebrows furrow over his eyes in obstinate concentration, concern etched into every line of his face, "Could your instruments be wrong?" He asks, an obvious answer, but one he knows Merle has already thought of. He had to bring it up, though, it seemed the only thing possible, and he quickly ducks his head as Davenport seeks to make eye contact, ears burning with a blush.

  
  
"I thought they have to be, it only makes sense," Merle shakes his head. "But I rechecked them four times, and got the same shit. Two hours is not a lot of time for my machines to all break simultaneously and get readings _this_ far off the mark. I'm worried he's got some kind of infection, I never completely got rid of whatever that black shit was in his veins, he could have some kind of... I don't know, walking zombie virus. I don't think it'd be wise for us to antagonize him, at least until we figure out what's going on. He's looking at us weird and we haven't even done anything."

  
  
Davenport is barely blinking as he watches them. They're thirty-odd feet away and whispering under their breaths, and yet even over the hum of the engine and the machinery in the room, he can hear them as if they were talking quietly right beside him.

  
  
"I'm not going to suddenly go berserker and tear anyone apart," he speaks up, startling the both of them. "I'm just hungry and stir crazy."

  
  
Barry jumps out of his skin at the addition from so far away, and he yanks his head up to look at Davenport, eyes going wide behind his glasses, "Uh, maybe we can, uh--" He glances at Merle and pushes his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, "Magnus, maybe, could accompany you outside? If you want some fresh air?" The fighter had the highest chance of being able to subdue Davenport without hurting him if something were to go wrong, surely.

  
  
"Let's get some food in you, first," Merle manages, as if he'd always intended for Davenport to overhear him suggesting he was taken by a zombie virus.

  
  
"I'll, uh-- could... you give me his vitals, Merle?" Barry asks, "If I, uh, if I set the scanner on the Blaster right, we might be able to see if there are other people like him on the planet. It might be a, uh-- a symptom of being bitten by one of those ghouls. Kinda makes them, uh, not as alive so they don't get bit again? Maybe?"

  
  
"Uh, yeah, sure," Merle tears his eyes away from Davenport's vacant 20 yard stare, and hands the papers off to Barry, who beats a nervous retreat from the sickbay, leaving Merle alone with him. Shaking off the heebie jeebies, Merle gets up to check the vitals machines again, this time taking off the heart monitor and putting it on his own finger to check and make absolutely sure it's working right.

  
  
Standing as close as he is, Davenport finds himself smelling Merle in a way he's never smelled before. He can smell the natural musk of the oils produced by his hair and beard, he can smell the dried flowers in his hair and the patchouli on his hemp clothes, worn old and sweet-smelling linen. He can smell the tea he was drinking on his breath as he mutters to himself, and he can hear his heartbeat, low and strong in his chest. It has an almost meditative effect on him, Davenport's eyes go half lidded as the calming metronome of Merle's heart seems to sync up with his own.

  
  
It's not a mood that is lost on the dwarf, that heavy-lidded gaze and almost sleepy expression, but while it might have been calming for Davenport? it was anything but for him. It rose the hairs along his arms and the back of his neck. There was a supreme feeling of being watched that came from the gnome now, from every minute action he did. It was unnerving.

  
  
In truth, he was more than happy when Lup returned bearing a tray with the promised broth, steaming slightly and golden amber in color, as well as a hunk of crusty bread and some thick cheese-- Something to stick to his ribs, but mild. "Aight, Cap, now if you throw this up my feelings are gonna be hurt, so don't try it," Lup croons as she sets the tray before him, sparing a glance at Merle. It didn't take a genius to tell the atmosphere of the room was... tense, at best, and Barry's absence didn't exactly help matters.

  
  
"So where'd we land on what's up?" She asks, putting her hands on her hips as she pours Davenport a large glass of water from the pitcher on his bedside table, sparing a glance to Merle, "This just normal post-coma weirdness, or...?" She, unlike the boys before her, didn't bother keeping her voice down or her eyes averted from Davenport, anxiously watching and waiting for him to eat after so long without food.

  
  
If the sound of Merle's heartbeat had been a soft comfort, the sound of Lup's is like a fire alarm, loud and demanding attention. Her entrance back into the room feels like an assault on his senses, and he doesn't even hear the soft conversation she and Merle are having. The flutter of her heart, the swish of her clothing on her skin, the sound of her breathing. He feels a strange, primal urge to climb on top of her and pin her to the ground and--

  
  
Crunch. Merle and Lup look over at the sound, and find the piece of bread crushed in Davenport's hand. He looks down, apparently also startled by the noise, and uncurls his fist around the smushed bread, letting it fall back to his plate, the crust crumbled into pieces.

  
  
Merle's gone rigid beside her, but Lup's got more calm than that, "Fun choice for the bread, Cap," She drawls amicably, tilting her head at the mess he made of his tray. She peers at him closer then, eyes narrowed as she takes him in, calculating, "You good?"

  
  
"Yeah," Davenport looks down at the bread and brushes the rest of the crumbs off his palm with his other hand. "Sorry about that, I think I just got distracted."

  
  
As Merle unclenches and looks back up at Lup, trying to communicate with his eyes that something is sincerely wrong, Davenport picks up his spoon and dips it into the broth. It really does smell good, the Taaco twins don't skimp by fucking around with bouillon cubes or canned broth, they make it themselves. However when he lifts it to his mouth, broth that he's had a hundred times before as a base for other soups they've made, it tastes bad on his tongue. Sour and watery and burning in his nose. He swallows the mouthful only because the other option is to spray it out on both Merle and Lup, and it burns going down, too.

  
  
Immediately he begins to cough and choke, violently enough that Merle removes the tray so he doesn't upend the bowl of hot soup into his lap, and the gnome hunches over, coughing deep and rough and wet.

  
  
"Hey, hey, hey," Lup is there at his side in an instant, glancing up at Merle with her brows furrowed in concern, a hand moving towards the space between his shoulder blades to pat.

  
  
"Ah--" Merle's voice catches her off guard before her hand can make contact with his back, and  when she looks up, Merle bustles over to shuffle her gently aside, "Maybe we ought to give him space. Think you can stomach some water, Andrew?" Merle's voice is a soft rumble in his chest as he holds the glass patiently out to him. He'd seen the way Davenport had coiled away from Lup earlier, had seen the way his eyes had gone overblown and wide at Lup's reentrance. Something about her was messing with him.

  
  
Lup tries not to look hurt, clenching her jaw and taking up the tray of food to set aside, jaw working, "What was wrong with it?" Nothing, she already knew that. The twins could make a damn fine broth.

  
  
Merle shrugs as Davenport takes the water and sucks down a few mouthfuls. The dwarf picks up the spoon and takes a sip of the broth, and shakes his head. "It tastes great to me, maybe he just choked on it?"

  
  
"Rancid," Davenport grits out and sets the now empty glass aside, his voice rough and his face red. "I'm about to lose my mind, Merle, I have to get out of here. I'm not keeling over, and if I am just bring me back, I have to get on my feet, get this IV out of me or I'm taking it out myself."

  
  
"Okay, okay, hold your horses there," Merle says hastily. He doesn't see the frown as it crosses Lup's face, nor does he see her take a sip of the broth as well, only to look at it, then Davenport, with confusion. The dwarf's hands find Davenport's arm, and he gently leaves the IV port in place while taping it shut and removing the tubing. If he really couldn't eat, it looked like he'd still need the drip, and he'd hate to try and find a vein again-- Gods knew it was hard enough finding one the first time.

  
  
"Looks like you losers got this handled," Lup's voice is the sort of bright and cheery that screams 'fake', but now isn't really the time to squint at it too  hard or assuage her hurt ego, "So I'm  gonna go do dishes or some shit. Let me know, okay?" She asks, putting a hand on Merle's shoulder and again reaching out as if she was going to touch Davenport. This time, though, her hand stops short of its own volition and she retracts her fingers, tray in her hand as she nudges open the Med Bay door with her hip and slips back into the hallway of the Starblaster.

  
  
From that point on, getting Davenport to eat is nearly impossible. They try again a few hours later, with one of his old favorites-- an egg fried on toast, seasoned just the way he likes it. He's cautious, but he tries it, and again, it tastes terrible on his tongue. He allows Merle to hook him up to the IV twice a day, but he refuses to eat after that, saying that he just needs "time" and that being unconscious and sick must have just fried something in his head.

  
  
Despite insisting he's stir crazy, whenever Davenport tries to go outside on the deck, or up to the cockpit, or really anywhere with windows, the sight of sunlight hurts his eyes so badly that he has to flee into a dark closet somewhere to fend off a migraine until someone can fetch Merle for painkillers. He wears a pair of Magnus' sunglasses inside the Blaster during the day, and only ventures into his cockpit or the deck at night.

  
  
His behavior is strange, too. He finds himself exhausted during the day, and sleeps most of it away, partially in instinct and partially in a desire to avoid as much daylight as possible, and he's up all night, just lurking around the halls of the ship, bored and alone. Sometimes Lup or Taako are up as well and keep him company, but he's been... weird, around Lup.

  
  
Every time he's near her, he feels rigid. All locked up. He feels an abiding need to claim her, moreso than usual. There's always an undercurrent of desire for Lup, desire to mark her, to take her, to lay a primal sort of mutual ownership, but now. Now it's practically paralyzing. He finds himself staring openly at her whenever she's nearby, just _watching_ her. After a while, Lup just stops going to visit.

  
  
It isn't that she doesn't want to see him, and it isn't that she isn't worried about him-- Quite the opposite, actually. She asks about him every chance she gets. But spurn her once, shame on her. Twice, shame on you, and three times? Well, that's just cruel. She doesn't know what's going on with Davenport, but she can't help, and instead of making things worse-- as her presence seems to-- She instead opts to make herself scarce. It's the least she can do.

  
  
Barry doesn't find anything on his scan of the planet, although that makes more sense than he'd like to admit. The scan is for something incredibly low temperature, for a planet haunted by undead bloodsuckers, so perhaps he shouldn't be surprised when  clusters of the things are all he can turn up. It makes his stomach roil, seeing just how many there are, like pulling back a wall to see a termite infestation. He sleeps a little better knowing they're in the sky, at least.

  
  
It's hard for the crew, for everyone. Seeing any of them in distress hurts, but seeing their Captain suffer silently, obviously in pain and fighting against whatever had taken hold, only to see no results? It hurt. Most of them could do nothing to help make Davenport comfortable, despite their best efforts. Taako uses the freshest of their preserved food to no avail, Magnus tries to keep him warm through sheer force of will-- no dice. Lucretia reads to him and talks to him about the state of the planet and the crew until she talks herself to sleep, leaving Davenport awake and restless and alone.

  
  
When he doesn't need food or fluids, Merle keeps Davenport off of the IV. "I need to be able to walk," Davenport had argued furiously, insatiable, until Merle had wearily agreed-- But only if he told him where he was going and for what. It was usually just a walk down the hall or around the deck under the night sky, but there's freedom in the nighttime. The crew asleep, no one pestering him with questions or concern or, worse, pity. Davenport is free to patrol as if he's on his Ship again. As if he has some kind of control in all this.

  
  
Well, the crew asleep and unpestering him. All save for one. Lup, elbows deep in cleaning dishes that looked as though they'd been cleaned twice over, already. She leans into the sink, water dripping down her front as she scrubs at stains that no one can see but her. It's a nervous habit. She cleans.

  
  
Davenport enters the kitchen out of habit, mostly. The hunger has been growing, gnawing at him relentlessly, but whenever he tries to eat something it tastes terrible on his tongue, and even if he can choke past that and swallow something, it boils painfully in his stomach, as if his entire body is rejecting all forms of food. But still, the hunger is there, and Davenport does what all hungry people do-- he wanders into the kitchen.

  
  
He stops, though, when he sees Lup. He thinks he'll just retreat before she's noticed, but the door slips out of his hand and swings closed, alerting her to his presence. She jerks her head around, startled, and even from ten feet away the wave of her scent that comes off her hair whips him in the face, and he feels his stomach clench painfully.

  
  
"Sorry," he says, already turning to flee.

  
  
"Hey, wait," Lup says after Davenport's back, already knowing her mistake, even as she makes it. The knot in her stomach twists uncomfortably into her chest, settling behind her sternum and right near her heart. She pulls out of the dishes, wiping her hands on a towel and frowning, "Come on, can you just... Wait a second?" She asks, desperation only eeking into her voice a little.

  
  
When he stops in his tracks but doesn't immediately face her, Lup feels awkward in her own shoes, shifting where she stood and crossing her arms over her chest, "You, um. Wanna try eating again?" She asks, voice soft as she avoids looking directly at him, squinting at nothing, instead. "I just made some bread? Can't say it's rancid if I just made it, right?" And sure enough, as she gestures to the side there's a loaf of bread cooling, finely-crafted and crusted with sesame seeds.

  
  
He sighs and looks over at the loaf of bread on the counter, and then looks up at her, his jaw setting into a firm frown. "You know I didn't-- you don't," he sighs again, and then tries again. "You know I don't think your food is rancid. I'd just woken up out of a weird coma, and my... tongue is all screwy, I don't know what's wrong with me. Things taste bad, everything tastes bad, all I can stomach is water."

  
  
"I know, I know," Lup waves a hand, "I was giving you shit," And she wrinkles her nose. It's still forced, why does everything feel so _forced_. She doesn't know how much she can push or how fast, how much Davenport would be willing to take before he snaps or skitters off again and she doesn't see him for another week. "Just try? For me?" She asks, frowning, her voice eerily sincere and worried-- not a very good sign. "You're getting... really small, babe."

  
  
His shirts have been getting looser, and he's been needing to notch his belt tighter. Someone like Magnus or Barry can go days without eating without it showing, they're both big guys. But someone like Davenport, even though he is supremely Stacked for a gnome, he's still only 55 pounds on a good day, and going almost 12 days now without eating has made him gaunt in places, sharpening the angles in his face and the grooves in his throat. He swallows hard, his adam's apple bobbing, and finally relents, padding forward on bare feet to climb up onto one of the barstools.

  
  
"Yeah, okay," he says, claws tapping on the counter uneasily. "Just... with butter. Just a bite."

  
  
There's palpable relief in her face as her shoulders sag, and she nods, "Okay. Just a bite," She agrees, watching him clamor onto the stool. How many times over the decades have they done this? Late night talks over snacks? Taako prefers to stay in bed despite not needing the rest, more than content to curl like a lazy cat in the warm circle of his lovers' arms, but Lup has always been too antsy to deal with it for long, and so her nights usually lead her here, to the kitchen. Davenport, who's mind runs as fast as a thoroughbred, usually does too-- for coffee, initially. Company as the years passed.

  
  
Lup cuts a reasonable sized piece of bread away, avoiding the heel, opting for more soft center than hard crust, and she slathers a similarly modest portion of butter onto it, watching as it melts into the bread still steaming from the oven, "Okay," She turns on her heel to face him, bite in her hand, voice tentative with a playful note, "Open wide, Cap, Flavortrain's pulling into the station." And she even adds a festive 'choo! choo!' for effect.

  
  
Normally he would have laughed off her teasing, insisted he isn't a child, but allowed her to feed him anyway on a good day, or at least taken the bread from her hand and teased back on a bad day about her mother henning him. But now, something boils in his chest. Truthfully it isn't the teasing that gets to him, it's just her proximity to him. It feels like there's electricity under his skin, crackling in her direction, nearly painful in its intensity, and he jerks physically back away from her.

  
  
"I can feed myself," he says hastily, his tail whipping behind him at a dangerous clip, hard enough to leave a red mark if someone were unlucky enough to get clipped by it. He doesn't mean to sound angry, because he isn't angry at her, but the urgency in his voice is hard to get across.

  
  
Lup's ears twitch at the snappy tone, and her eyebrows raise, "Can you?" She challenges, tilting her head as she holds the bread between her fingers, "Because, if I'm bein' honest, Cap, you don't look like you've been doin' much of a very good job at it." And still she steps closer, thick curls spilling over her shoulder as she 'flies' the bread in, teasingly wrinkling her nose, "C'mon. Take your bite," She's pushing it, she knows, but if she can knock him out of this funk maybe things would improve, finally.

  
  
His heart rate climbs again when she leans in, and he can smell her, he can smell every inch of her. He can smell her hair, and her clothes, and her breath, he can smell her skin, he can even smell the pasty fragrant scent of her makeup. When she leans in this close, most importantly and perhaps most dangerously, he can't drown out the sound of her heartbeat anymore.

  
  
"Lup, stop it," he says, his voice tight and panicked, and he midjudges the distance from his hand to hers when he tries to hold up his palm to stop her. He accidentally slaps the bread out of her hand with the back of his knuckles, and it lands butter side down on the floor. Because of course it does. His hand, suspended and visibly trembling, just stays in place while his breath shudders unevenly in his lungs.

  
  
"What is going _on_ with you?" Lup's voice is tight and urgent, and just as soon as the bread hits the ground, Lup's hand is on Davenport's, suspended in the air as it was. Her fingers slip between his as they have a hundred times before, as they will a hundred times in the future. Both hands clasp his one, warm, practically sweltering compared to the icy chill of his.

  
  
Her eyes go wide at the shock to her system, and she can hear her own heart pounding in her ears as she holds him in place and takes another step forward. If Davenport was shaking before, he's downright wracked with tremors, now. Call her selfish, but Lup can't keep flitting around one of the men she loves more than the entire world. "Just talk to me, D, you can't even look at me since it happened."

  
  
When her palm touches his and her fingers tighten over his, everything she says is completely lost on him. Her words fade into that deep echoing ring in his ears, drowned out by the sound of her heartbeat, climbing now with the frenetic anxiety filling her. He can feel her pulse in her fingers, he can feel it beating against his skin, and even that tiny little pulse feels like the pounding of a drum between his fingers.

  
  
The hunger gnaws at him and despite none of them knowing what's happening with him, what's going on with his body and why it's been behaving the way it has, an instinct fills him with such force it's like someone took him by the face and explicitly told him what to do.

  
  
He wants to _bite_ Lup. He wants to bite her the way that thing bit him on the deck. He wants to bite through her skin and swallow her blood. It wouldn't be anything entirely new, Davenport's always been known to get a little nippy with his lovers, and Lup in particular has always liked his bites. He's even broken the skin a couple times during rough sessions and tasted her blood, but he never _wanted_ her blood before. That was never the point, it was about marking, about leaving bruises and little pockmark scars for the others to see. But right now, the idea of biting into her and drinking her blood has him so hazy that he can't even focus on what she's saying.

  
  
He's so completely out of his mind, zonked on just the idea of her blood in his mouth that he doesn't have the wherewithal to say anything useful. What he wants to articulate is that he doesn't feel safe being near her, he feels dangerous and is afraid he might hurt her, so she should stop touching him to keep from exacerbating the problem. But all he can manage is a dull, flat, "Stop it."

  
  
"Stop it?" Lup repeats his words with no small amount of incredulity, tone practically aghast at his deadpan words. She shakes her head, fingers tightening on his and feet stepping closer, until she's in his space. Too deep in, her hip nearly slotted into the hollow of his hip and thigh, nearly neatly tucked between his legs. And he doesn't fight her, or at least, he doesn't seem to. His tone his deadpan, his eyes wide and overblown. She swears she can see the hairs on his moustache twitch.

  
  
Pulling at his hand, Lup tugs his palm into her stomach, "Come on, you have to talk to me. Did I do something? Are you mad at me, what? Everyone else you hang out with fine, but the minute you get to me, suddenly it's-- It's... 'Stop it, get away, back off'?" Lup sucks hard at a tooth, shaking her head and clicking her teeth. Her hands begin to rub his palm between them, fingers expertly attempting to massage the tension out of those clawed digits, working at the meat at the heel of his palm, up to each individual finger.

  
  
It's sad, she knows, the way she's acting. Desperate and confused and sad, certainly not her proudest moment. But  she has to try to speak to him while she can. Who knows where he'll go after this, who knows if he'll even allow himself to see her, after this. The confusion gnaws deep in her stomach, an insatiable and unending monster that she has to confront, and confront now, just so she can say she tried, "Just talk to me, Andrew. Just tell me what's going on, please?"

  
  
Davenport sharply looks up at her face. He still can't understand her words, but he hears the sound of her voice, imploring. He watches her throat move as she speaks, and the thought of sinking into it with his jaws feels so right that his teeth ache in his skull. It would be easy to do, she wouldn't even expect it, he could jump on her and--

  
  
He realizes with a start what he's thinking about doing, and he gives an inarticulate shout. He needs to get _away_ from her before he hurts her, before he passes on whatever fucking disease that thing put into him in the first place when it bit him. He lurches back, and falls backwards off the barstool, catching himself only barely on his hands. Pain smarts up through his elbows as he scrambles upright, backing away from her.

  
  
"Stop it, don't touch me!" his voice comes out shaking and panicked, and his eyes are nearly black again, like they were the night he was attacked. He holds up his hands to stop Lup when she lurched towards him protectively, as he backs towards the door. "I can't-- I can't-- just stay away from me."

  
  
He turns and runs through the door, leaving it swinging on its hinges behind him, and leaving Lup there, more confused and concerned than she was before.


	3. Chapter 3

"We need to find out what happens when someone's bit," Lup insists.

  
  
It's a family meeting, sans one member. The six remaining birds circle tightly around the island in the kitchen as they confer, the remnants of dinner still lingering on their plates. Davenport had fallen into a restless sleep, finally, so they had to take the opportunity when it arose to discuss him without him in an earshot-- nowadays, his ears were all too keen.

  
  
"We-- Could try isolating them, but with their speed on land it, uh. It'd be pretty hard," Barry admits, wrapping an arm around his wife's hips to give her a concerned, little squeeze. It was meant to be comforting. It was, but not as much as the comfort Lup would feel once they figured out what the fuck was going on with Davenport, and why he  couldn't look her in the eye anymore.

  
  
"I don't like the idea of bringing one of those things on this ship," Merle mutters gruffly, shaking his head and shoving his hands deep into his pockets, "Even if we keep them in the holding bay, the last think we need is to be stuck in an isolated place with one of them. Nooo, thank you." Merle shakes his head and holds both hands out, a sign of concession if there ever was one.

  
  
"Maybe we go to the surface, then," Lucretia offers. "There's safety in numbers, right? If we stick together, maybe we can find one that's willing to answer our questions."

  
  
"I like that idea even less," Barry grunts, crossing his arms. "What if getting close to those things activates some kind of hivemind shit in the captain?"

  
  
"We could ask questions of the locals instead," Magnus suggests. "Maybe they know a thing or two about the monsters. They have to live with them every day after all, they've gotta have some kind of idea about how they operate, even if it's just to keep themselves safe. They're less likely to bite our throats out."

  
  
"That might be the case," Lucretia sighs. "Or, they'll get so guarded once they find out we have someone in our midst who was attacked and affected that they'll run us out of town with torches and pitchforks."

  
  
"We don't know anything about anything," Taako leans on his hands on the table. "If we start making choices based on what-ifs and guesses about a magic disease on a plane we're not familiar with we're gonna be chasing our tails all year. We gotta just pick a plan and roll with it."

  
Lup nods in agreement, "Taako's right. We have to just pick a plan, and I say we go to ground and try and talk to the locals." Her eyes scan the rest of the crew, face set in a somber frown, "We can leave the Captain on the ship with someone. Lucy?" 

  
"I could stay with the Captain," She relents, although it's not without a fair bit of reluctance.

  
"That doesn't stop the locals from runnin' us out of town soon as they find out we got one of 'em in our midst," Merle argues.

  
"We can play that by ear," Lup brushes off the concern with a casual flick of her wrist, shaking her head as she stands upright, "Some of them might be better left untold, but some might appreciate the honesty, especially if they've had family bit in the past."

  
"So what, we wander around town getting to know the people for days and weeks until we pick one that won't run us up a flagpole for asking questions, meanwhile Drew gets sicker and sicker?" Merle frowns grimly. 

  
"We could rock up with a megaphone and start making announcements that we're willing to pay whoever answers us first," Taako smirks. 

  
"Yeah, that'd go over well," Magnus laughs bitterly. 

  
"What are you all talking about?" Davenport's voice suddenly comes from behind them, and six bodies tense up, and six pairs of eyes whip around to look at him. He hadn't made a sound, not even when opening the door, not while walking. He'd managed to come up behind them without so much as a whisper. 

  
He's been looking different recently, too. It's been gradual, and subtle, enough that when they spend time with him, they can convince themselves it's all in their head. But it becomes apparent when they've gone a while without seeing him. He's always been a pale gnome, but he's even paler recently. The always-present flush on his cheeks and nose and ears has been absent since he woke up, and the shadows and wrinkles around his eyes have deepened. In combination with the gaunt pull of his cheeks, his face has taken on an almost skull-like appearance. Not the most comforting thing to sneak up behind them during a meeting about that very same gnome.

  
The silence that hangs over the small family is so tense it's practically palpable. It hangs in the air like putty, heavy and thick, and it's finally Lup who breaks it. Lup, who, after their late-night confrontation, has been making a very clear choice to respect Davenport's wishes and stay as far away from him as possible, not wanting to push him when he's already, clearly, ill. 

  
Glancing toward the crew, Lup rolls her eyes and straightens her shoulders, turning to give Davenport a look, "You're not doing well, Cap," She finally says, voice set, "We're going to land and find out what's going on with you and if there's a cure or if you're just... like this, now."

  
"A cure for what?" Davenport shakes his head. "I feel fine. Weird, still, I guess, but I'm not sick or dying. I've just been jittery."

  
" _Just_ been jittery," Merle actually laughs. "You haven't eaten a scrap of food in two and a half weeks, you're turning into skin and bones, you're cold as ice and you're afraid of sunlight."

  
"I'm not afraid of it," Davenport protests, his brows setting down into a hard line. "It just gives me a headache."

  
"That's not _normal_ ," Magnus sighs, leaning down on his hands. "You're not weak for being sick, Cap'n'port. That thing that bit you just made you sick, it's not your fault." 

  
"I can't be sick," Davenport insists, his voice shaking with a little tremor. "I can't be sick because it _is_ my fault. I broke my own rule, and got attacked. How can I enforce my rules on all of you if I can't even follow them myself?" he reaches up, rubbing his hands over his face and breathes shakily, and his family's hearts break at the sight of him. They forget, sometimes, how very small he is. His presence has always been so big it's easy for them to forget how very little he is, but now especially when his clothes hang off him like a wire hanger, when he's standing in front of them trying not to cry, they see it.

  
"Hey, listen, Cap," Taako shares an uneasy glance with his sister as he opts to take the step forward. He knows Lup is on a 5-foot restraining order. "How many times have we all broken your rules? Like once a year, right? Every single last one of us've fucked up and gotten hurt at some point, and you don't hold it over our heads, do you? No, you let us get up and move on, so let us help you do the same, huh?"

  
"You're not getting better, Captain," Lucretia chimes in, quiet and concerned, worry etched in every line of her face, "We all just wish to see you well again, regardless of how you got sick in the first place."

  
There's a rumbling chorus of agreement at that, the others nodding and looking to one another for back up. Lup, however, doesn't move her gaze from Davenport, bright eyes hard and jaw set as she practically tries to will him to look at her. When he doesn't, she can feel the familiar twinge in her guts of rejection. It stings every time.

  
"The fact is, you can't deny bein' sick like that's a cure, Andrew," Merle shakes his head, looking tired, "It ain't and it isn't gonna be. You're not gonna get better unless we figure out somethin' else, because what we're doin' clearly ain't working."

  
Davenport looks down at the ground, his expression hardset. He takes a deep breath, and then finally nods and looks up at his team. "Okay," he says. "We'll land. I think I'd like to stay with the ship, though. I don't really wanna... try going outside during the day  yet."

  
"That's fine," Merle sounds relieved that Davenport has agreed. "We'll leave someone here to watch-- er, to keep you company while the rest of us go ashore."

  
"I've volunteered to stay if that's alright, Captain," Lucretia nods towards the gnome. 

  
A pit drops in Davenport's stomach at the thought of Lup going planetside with those monsters prowling around, away from where he can keep an eye on her and keep her safe. An instinctual lurch in his guts has him speaking up before he even thinks through the implications of his words, stacked up against his actions of the last couple weeks. 

  
"No," he blurts. "I want Lup to stay."

  
"What?" Lup doesn't even allow the crew to look at one another before she answers, her word more a guffaw than an actual question, surprised and incredulous, "Bullshit."

  
"Lup," Merle's tone is warning, voice short.

  
"No, I'm going," Lup demands, shaking her head, "You can't even be in the same room with me, anymore. Fuck that. Lucretia, you can stay."

  
"Lup," This time it's Magnus, and his warning voice holds a bit more grit to it, enough to actually make Lup pause and frown, looking petulant. "The Captain says he wants you to stay, so you should stay. Lucretia can come with us. She'll be handy to have, planet side." Not that he knew how, but if he could argue that it made sense for her to go, maybe Lup would handle the news better.

  
"We shouldn't need fighters," Merle agrees, ignoring the way Taako's brows were furrowed, clearly torn between helping the Captain and siding with his sister, "But if something happens to the ship we should have someone who can take care of themselves, and Davenport. No offense, Lucretia."

  
Lup looks livid, and Lucretia refrains from looking at her, eyes cast toward the ground, "None taken. Lup is much more capable at that than me." It wasn't said with shame, she knew her strengths.

  
"Seriously?" It was the only word that left Lup's mouth, and she casts a look around at the rest of the crew, finally landing her gaze on Davenport, "Seriously?"

  
"I want you here," Davenport says simply, looking up at her and meeting her gaze for the first time since he came into the room. "I don't want you to go."

  
Lup looks between the rest, even Barry, who has gone quiet and is now avoiding her gaze as he rubs the scruff on his chin, thoughtfully.

  
"Fine," She says through grit teeth, finally looking back to catch Davenport in the eye, her own sharp and hard, "Whatever. I'll just hang out in my room or something." Lup scowls, and marches from the room, frustration in every heavy step.

  
"No, you don't have to--" Davenport starts, but she's already gone. Resentment boils for just a moment in his chest but he stamps out the fire as quick as he can, shaking his head and looking back up at his crew. "Just let me know what you find." 

  
They land the ship and the other five disembark with promises to return with information, and in short order, Davenport finds himself alone on the ship with Lup. Or rather, not really _with_ Lup. She's off somewhere, sulking, and Davenport feels that bitter frustration in his chest again burn at her absence. He finds himself walking to her room almost in a trance, and he pauses for a moment as the fear rears up again that he might hurt her, but he shakes his head and commits to the walk. He is in control of his actions. 

  
He knocks on her door three times. "Lup, you don't have to hide," he calls to her through the door. He technically has the code to open every door on this ship, but he's not about to abuse that if he can just get her to open up. 

  
"Oh, I don't?" Lup's voice volleys back almost immediately, as if she hadn't been doing much but staring at the wall and waiting for someone to check up on her-- a statement that was only half true, at best, "You wanna divvy up the ship then, so I can walk around freely without you yelling at me to get away from you, or what?"

  
The anger comes back, but Davenport has experience keeping level-headed through anger. "You're not being very fair, Lup," he says with a sigh. "Whatever's... happening to me, it's not-- it's not _me_ , you know it's not me. I'm not like this, I'm just. Weird, I feel weird, but it's not my fault. I'm just... sick." 

  
"You're not being very fair!" She retorts, with all the candor of an offended five year old. "You won't let me help on the ship, you won't let me help off the ship, you won't let me see you but you also won't let me be away from you!" Lup continues to speak through the door, but she's closer now in turns, obviously pacing just behind it. "I'd bet 15 bucks that I open that door right now and you fuck off, I bet you!"

  
"I won't," Davenport says. "I'm not _well_ , Lup. I don't know what's wrong with me, but being near you makes me feel... antsy. It scares me, I'm afraid-- I'm afraid to pass on whatever's in me onto you. I'm afraid to _infect_ you with whatever's twisting me up inside."

  
There's silence, and then with a expulsion of steam, the door opens, and Lup is  there, closer  than she has been in days, leaning against her doorframe, arms crossed, face set in a frown, "Then you should have let me leave with the others so I could help you," She hisses. "Why keep me here?"

  
"Because I don't want them to infect you, either," he says, placing his hands on her door. "I don't want you to be out there with the rest of them, those things that attacked me. I don't want you out there where it's dangerous and I can't protect you."

  
"The rest of the crew's out there," Lup presses, taking a step forward, her hip practically brushing the thin, skeletal line of his arm on her door, "What'd I do to get this special treatment, huh? Why am I the only one who can't go out there?"

  
  
Davenport pounds his fist on the door in frustration, and Lup is startled by how strong the force of the vibrations it causes are. "I don't know!" he shouts at her through the door. "I don't know anything, It's not _rational_ , I just know that the idea of you out there makes me sick to my stomach."

  
  
Lup's ears raise at the note of almost desperate frustration in Davenport's voice, and she frowns, lapsing into silence.

  
  
"...Then come with me," She says, finally. "You have to let me help somehow, or I'm going to go crazy. You and I could go into town, alone. Maybe you being there and... talking, or something, maybe they'll realize we're just trying to find help."

  
Davenport rests his forehead on the door and breathes out slowly through his nose. "Okay," he says finally. "Later, not... not now. Not while the sun's still up. I really don't want to deal with a headache right now on top of everything else."

  
"Okay," Lup repeats, going quiet for a long moment, and then finally opens the door. She takes the time to watch him, his face, his body. It seems to take every ounce of willpower in him just to move, nonetheless talk and pretend everything is normal. "...You can go now, if you need. I'll see you tonight," She amends with a nod. "Call you 'round dusk?"

  
"Okay," he says, looking up at her with a similarly curt nod, and then he whisks away to find a dark corner to breathe deeply in for six hours until she comes for him. 

  
When his boots hit the ground for the first time in a couple weeks that night, it feels like he can breathe for the first time. He loves the ship, they all do, it's their home. But being stuck in it for extended periods of time can  make even the captain crazy, and he arguably loves the ship more than any of them. Despite being as small as he is, Davenport has felt like for the last few weeks he hasn't had room to stretch out his limbs, but now that he's out in the open night air with the moonlight touching him, he feels alive. 

  
"How are we gonna get anyone to talk to us at this hour?" Davenport asks as they walk away from the ship, slipping away just in time before the rest of the team gets back. He looks up at her and he finds it harder to hear her heartbeat, to smell her scent. Everything is so wide open out here, he feels clearer than he has in days and days, without any walls trapping in the sounds and the smells. 

  
"We go to the one place where time of day don't mean shit," Lup says with relative ease, "I'd put money that once it gets dark they don't leave their doors open, but if we manage to get into the tavern before they close up for the night, surely they'd have to let us stay, right? People don't just stop drinking 'cause there's monsters everywhere." In fact, plenty probably would take that as a reason to drink more.

  
"Not a bad idea," Davenport nods as they walk down the gravel road towards the city. They'd parked on the outskirts, just outside of town, assuming the locals wouldn't love the sight of a space ship coming down out of the clouds within eyeshot. "Let's get a move on then, it's a bust if we don't get there in time." 

  
He glances behind them, at the last rays of orange sunlight illuminating the bottoms of the clouds overhead. They don't have too long to get to the tavern, assuming everything closes up once the last of the sunlight has left for the night. So they increase their pace to a trot, entering the city through an iron archway hung over the road that reads "Lowellville." 

  
"If they won't talk to me, or if they kick me out, just let me go," Davenport says. "You'll be safe locked inside, and I'll make my way back to the ship."

  
Lup turns her head to him, sharply, "You could get hurt," She says harshly, eyes scanning the city skyline for any clue as to where the tavern might be. Eventually she spots it on the main drag, and sure enough? With the last of the lights fading, those loitering around seem to be bustling inside-- either to  the confines of the tavern doors, or into the various other buildings still brightly lit, although the lights were quickly being extinguished for the coming night.

  
"Come on," She says hastily, reaching out to grab at Davenport's hand and stopping short, taking her hand back before frowning and offering him a lame gesture ahead, instead, nodding forward to the tavern, her strides elongating.

  
Davenport surprises her by reaching up to take her hand, and she looks down at him with a startled expression. He gives her a lame little smile, and for the first time in weeks, with the open air around them keeping his head clear, he feels _normal_. He doesn't feel like he's about to launch at her or anyone else, and even the hunger is easier to ignore. 

  
Eyebrows furrow at the hand on hers, and she follows the line to his face, looking at him for longer than strictly necessary, "You're feeling better," She says, but doesn't elaborate from there, pulling him gently by the hand to the tavern, hand finding the door and opening just as a man that looks to be the bouncer began to approach from afar, a thick pair of keys in his hand. 

  
"Are we too late to seek refuge for the night?" Lup offers, her voice loud and innocent, "We're not looking for trouble, just a bite to eat and a place to stay the night, isn't that right?" She asks, glancing to Davenport at her side.

  
"You know the rules," the bouncer says, pointing to the sign on the window in the door, even as Lup's foot enters the crack to block it from closing all the way. The sign reads 'no entry after 7PM.' 

  
Davenport glances up at the clock on the wall behind the man's back and frowns. "It's only 7:01," he protests. 

  
"I suggest you shake a leg, then," the man says, kicking the toe of Lup's boot to dislodge it from the door and he closes it in her face, locking it with a loud click. "Good luck."

  
"Come on!" Lup snaps, kicking at the door, which, while it looks like wood, must be made of sturdier stuff, as it doesn't even rattle or creak under the weight of her blow. 

  
Glancing toward the sky, she can't help the little trill of nerves that spikes up her back as she sees the orange glow of the sun dip lower on the horizon. More and more doors close and lock, lights extinguishing for the night. Even as they stand on the stoop of the tavern, it's light extinguishes, plummeting them into darkness.

  
Hissing under her breath, Lup's hand in Davenport's squeezes, and she urges him to the far side of the square, where there are still some lights lit, "Come on, let's just try'n find someplace," She urges, pulling him with her.

  
Davenport feels the mane on the back of his neck prickle and stand up instinctively, as his body senses danger nearby before his mind catches up. He whips his head around as he walks with Lup and catches sight of three men lurking out of the shadows behind them wearing dark hooded tunics. His hand tightens around Lup's and when he faces his eyes forward again to warn her, he picks up on two more figures, shrouded in the darkness in the trees on the other side of the square. 

  
"We have to go back to the ship right now," he says, his voice low and extremely urgent.

  
"Shit," Lup has gone still by the time Davenport speaks, her eyes glinting in the dim light, back ramrod straight as she stares at the group of men beginning to circle them. There are already so many of them, emboldened by the night and the early snack that Lup had decided to present to them in the form of... well, herself. 

  
Whipping around, Lup sees the others, and there's only one option, "Come on, down this way," She hisses, and she yanks him down toward the lights. They could loop around the town buildings, maybe find a way into one of them, a place to hunker down and sit for the night, just to wait out the danger. No way were they making it back to the ship, not with how many were already rushing after them, their feet not making a sound in the dirt. Lup moves with intention, but without running, refusing to give them the satisfaction of a chase, excising her fingers from Davenport's, magic already at her fingertips.

  
"Well hold on just a moment!" a voice calls out from behind them, startling them both. They were unaware that these things could speak. Then again, these seem to be different from those monstrous, naked white things like the one that attacked Davenport. That moment of hesitation and confusion is all it takes for two of them to skitter out in front of them, effectively locking the two of them in place in a loose circle of the five of them. 

  
One of the five steps forward towards them and lowers his hood. It's a Drow, which surprises them both, but he doesn't look like an ordinary drow. Elf teeth are already naturally pretty sharp, but when he speaks they see even longer fangs than an ordinary elf, and his face is gaunt and skeletal like Davenport's is becoming. Davenport squints up at him in confusion. 

  
"What are you?" he asks suspiciously. 

  
"That's a rude question," the drow grins, all fangs. "You should know, anyway. We just wanna talk, isn't that right boys?"

  
Lup sucks in a thick gulp of air, nervous under her breath as she swallows hard and stares up at the thing before them-- the person, rather. His words start a dull ache in her bones, enough to make her brain start thinking and worrying. "We aren't looking to hurt anyone, but you have to let us go," Lup challenges loudly, and there's a crash of thunder as clouds roll in overhead, encouraged by the shimmering lavender of her magic, hand still down at her side.

  
"There won't be any need for any of that," the drow speaks up, waving his hand dismissively. "We can come up with a way in which all of us get out of this comfortably, if you're willing to make a deal."

  
"What kind of deal?" Davenport demands, feeling uneasy with the circle of monsters standing around them. 

  
"Well it's simple," the drow laughs. "You let each of us feed off your little pocket snack here, just a little bit, no harm done, and we won't rip the two of you to pieces, how's that sound?"

  
"Pocket snack," Lup repeats, and there's another peel of thunder, the likes of which causes the little hairs on Lup's arms to raise with static. She scowls as she looks amongst them all, feeling anxious, deep in her stomach. She could fight them, maybe, but not before Davenport got hurt and definitely not without getting hurt, herself.

  
But they were talking, which was new. And more than she could say for the townspeople, "Answer a couple questions, too, and you have a deal," Lup blurts without thinking, breathing just a bit too heavy to be healthy.

  
"What--" Davenport's head snaps up to look at her. "No, Lup, absolutely not, I'm not going to let these goons _eat_ you--"

  
"Oh don't be so dramatic," the drow croons. "If the lady says we have a deal, then we have a deal. What are your questions?"

  
"No!" Davenport shouts, and something happens to his voice when he does. An eerie, deeper subvocal voice layers under his, giving his words an echoing, ethereal effect. "New deal, the five of you walk away right now and _I_ don't rip  _you_ to pieces."

  
It's Lup's turn to jolt and turn to Davenport with surprise, eyes wide as she takes him in, the voice new and, frankly? A bit terrifying. "Davenport," She whispers, her voice urgent, "There's five of them, and they sound like they know exactly what's going on with you." She presses, but her fingers still twitch, barely containing the magic that threatened to tear from the sky.

  
"Or," the Drow says. " _New_ new deal. If you don't take the old deal, we'll kill you and steal your girlfriend for feedcattle." 

  
Davenport doesn't respond with words. Something flashes in his eyes at the man's threat, and instinct takes over. Nobody threatens his lover, nobody makes claims on his partner, on his family. Without a single word, just an animalistic growl, Davenport launches off the ground so fast he's just a white blur beside Lup, and his teeth are in the Drow's throat in a split second. With a slick squelch and a spray of blood, the Drow drops to the ground choking and dying, grasping at the hole in his throat, and Davenport spits the hunk of flesh to the ground, already wheeling around to face the other four stunned monsters who have just leapt into defensive stances. 

  
Lup takes her cue from him. The sky splits open the a crack in the air, as if the very planet was fissuring in half, and  from it beams a kind of light that seems to be sunlight, if fake. Three meteors come tearing from the sky and collide with the cluster of creatures still flanking them, and it takes all of Lup's energy to hastily yank Davenport back by the shoulder, his mouth still dripping black ichor from the creature he'd ripped the throat of, before. 

  
"Come on, come on, let's go!" She shouts, two more meteors joining the first and creating a sizeable wall of stone and fire between them and the herd, pushing Davenport between the shoulders to get him to run as she kicks up the speed, as well.

  
They sprint into the trees with a hefty headstart, and it seems as if Lup's meteor shower had killed off one of them because only three of them are chasing behind them into the forest. They just have to get back to the ship, then they'll be able to take off and be safe. Everyone else will be back by now, and they would have found Lup and Davenport's note on the table letting them know they'd be back and to stay put. 

  
However the monsters are fast, faster than they gave them credit for, and by the time they've reached the trees even with the considerable lead Lup's spell gave them, the creatures reach them only a second behind them. One of them sails through the air and pounces Davenport to the ground, and the two of them go rolling through the underbrush with snarls like animals peeling off the both of them. 

  
"No!" Lup screams, catching herself mid-step and scrambling. With a shout, electricity pours from her fingers, hitting one of the monsters before bouncing, hopping from one to the other until there was a long tether of electricity keeping all of them in place, bright and impossible to look at in the night air. More fire at her fingertips, Lup hurls it at the creature that was more than happy to take advantage of Davenport's absence to approach her, though he does so warily, one eye on the magic of her hands, the other  at her throat.

  
Lup raises her hands to defend herself, but there's another blur and Davenport streaks in front of her. Her head whips around at the place she'd pinned the monster that had been on top of him, now slumped dead in the grass. Just two of them left, and by the time she looks back up only a half second later, Davenport has flattened another to the ground and is tearing into him with his claws while the monster weakly fights back, trying to get him off. The gnome is like a man possessed, ripping into the wailing creature like he wants to tunnel out the other side.

  
At the sight of her illustrious captain with a mouth full of stranger, followed immediately by another, as he flits and seems to vanish between them-- it's all she can do to keep up, evaporating massive hunks of stone and fire to clear the way while still yanking at him to keep moving. She practically wrenches Davenport back by the arm, yanking at him urgently to remind him to move again, keeping them focused on getting to the ship, and worrying about checking in with Davenport after.

  
He tugs on her grip, trying to pull away from her as she tries to drag him away back to the ship. His pupils are pinpricks, his expression predatory as he zeroes in on the last remaining creature. He'd seen his comrades all fall and had turned on his heel to flee. It would have been a wise move, but Davenport's body is filled with the singular instinct to kill in order to protect. 

  
Ordinarily, Davenport is pretty strong. Lup is intimately familiar with how strong the gnome can be. He isn't just strong "for a gnome," either, he's strong _period_. But even then, he's usually pretty evenly matched by Merle, and easily overpowered by Barry or Magnus. Lup can hold her own against him in an arm wrestling contest, and can give him a run for his money. She has a pretty good idea of how strong he can be. 

  
So when he wrenches out of her grasp as if she'd been holding onto him by two fingers, her head whips around to watch him as he streaks after the retreating creature, pouncing on him from behind and tearing into him with teeth and claws as the captured monster wails under him. 

  
Lup can't do anything but watch as the last of the men are slaughtered, and the man's screams echo in her ears as if through a loudspeaker. Her eyes are wide, staring openly as Davenport continues to rip and tear well past the point of death, until there's nothing but silence and the wet drip of blood on dust.

  
Fortunately, Lup's body has always been good at keeping things moving, even when she gets caught up in her own thoughts, and before she can overthink the carnage of her surroundings, her feet are shifting forward. One step, two, four long strides get her to Davenport's side, and another strong hand reaches out, and this time with some strength, she grabs at his shoulder and yanks him back, away from the mangled corpse beneath him, away from the inky black viscera that now covers him from head to toe.

  
"We gotta get going," Lup's voice is quiet but firm, urgent, "More're going to get here soon enough, we gotta go, now."

  
He doesn't hear her words, all he can hear is the blood pounding in his ears. His, for one, but more powerfully, _hers_. He can hear her heartbeat, louder and more tempting than ever, and when he feels her hand close on his shoulder, instinct takes over again. He wheels around and before she can even open her mouth to shout, her back has hit the grass under them and he's hunched on top of her. His teeth are bared, longer and sharper than she's ever seen them, and his eyes are shining blue discs, reflecting the moonlight like a cat's, and he _roars_.

  
Whether it's the roar literally shocking Lup back into her senses or the feeling of suddenly being pinned to the ground, her brain comes back to her in a rush, and again, her body reacts without her thinking. Her hand snaps out, clenched into a fist, and it connects to his jaw with a sickening crack.

  
  
Davenport roars like a hurt animal, and Lup takes the chance to scurry out from underneath him and to her feet, chest heaving and eyes wide, hair wild. His head snaps to her, and her hands alight with flame, the orange glow casting deep shadows across her face, "I don't know what the fuck is going on with you, but we're leaving, now, before you get us killed," She snaps, and begins to walk back to the Blaster, backwards, to keep Davenport in her line of sight lest he do something unsavory.

  
  
The punch knocks him back to his senses, and Davenport hunches up onto his knees, looking around and blinking hard, like he's trying to dispel a film from his eyes. His heart rate begins to slow down, and though he's still breathing hard, his pupils start to grow again back to a normal size, and he looks up to see Lup with fire in her hands, looking at him with fear. At _him_.

  
  
He holds out his hands palms-up and looks down at himself, at the black ichor and viscera trapped under his nails, and he feels a lurch of queasiness as the last few minutes come back to him in fits of red-colored memories. He remembers anger, fury, possessiveness, a need to protect, and then finally that gnawing, furious hunger and he remember pouncing Lup and-- his jaw smarts as it all connects together in his head in a line, and he looks up at her. Eyes wide. Horrified.

  
  
Lup shakes her head just a smidge, incredulous and disbelieving, and only can watch as Davenport's eyes go through what seems like an entire life's worth of emotions, in the span of five seconds. Rage melts into confusion, disorientation, despair, until finally he's looking at her with what actually looks like fear, and the flames on Lup's hands die, though her posture remains on guard.

  
  
"We'll worry about that later," She hisses, and jerks her head back the way they came, "We've seriously gotta get going, before more of those things are drawn by all the fighting and.." Blood? Could she consider the inky black fluid coating the ground like an oilslick blood? It certainly didn't run like blood, nor did it smell like blood. But if those monsters had the sort of heightened senses she knew they did, they wouldn't need an excuse to investigate the slaughter of their own people, which makes them practically beacons for the things.

  
  
Long legs making quick work of the distance between them, Lup steels herself and offers Davenport her hand, his own covered in ichor or no, "Let's just go," She says, voice deceivingly steady as she helps Davenport to his feet, releasing him immediately and wiping her palm off on her thigh, turning on her heel and heading back to the Blaster.

  
  
He took her hand in shock, but once he's upright and she's running back for the ship, a bright silver-white beacon between the trees in the distance, Davenport doesn't move. It all sinks in for him what he just did, what he's _becoming_. He was afraid he might be dangerous, but now he knows he is. He's horrified with himself, with what he almost did, with what he wanted to do. With what he _did_ do. The _last_ place on this plane he wants to be is on that ship, trapped in isolation with the six people he loves the most in the entire known multiverse.

  
  
Lup makes it a healthy distance before she even realizes Davenport isn't behind her, and once she does, her feet come to an abrupt stop, and she can feel her stomach twisting into sickening knots. She's torn, agony ripping though her-- a very quiet part of herself says to let him stay. It's drowned out by the chorus of No otherwise filling every pore in her body. 

  
"Hey!" She shouts, and runs back, ears on high alert, shoulders hunched as she tries to hear everything at once, "I know what you're thinking and we don't have the fucking time, Dav. We need to get back, and we need to get back now, okay? We can worry about what just happened later, I'm serious, but if you don't fucking move we're both going to die."

  
"I'm not going back, I can't," Davenport shakes his head, looking up at her with horror in his face. "I can't, just leave me here. I'll see you at the end of the year when we all reform, I can't-- I can't get on that ship like this Lup, I can't, I ­ _can't_ , not after what I just-- Lup I almost--" his voice is shaking, tremoring in his throat, and as tears shine on his cheeks, an unholy and very distant howl splits the night air. 

  
"Well, Davenport, you can either watch me die right in front of you, or you can come with me and we'll lock you in a fucking cage or something, because I'm not going to leave you!" Lup sounds exasperated, opening her arms wide to the night air.

  
  
Davenport looks behind him as the howl is answered by other howls. Still distant, but getting closer. And then he looks back up at her, with fear still present in his eyes. "You'll lock me in a cage?" he asks, like he's hoping for her to promise. "The airlock, maybe?"

  
  
"Yes, I'll talk to you with notes slid under the goddamn door, can we fucking _go?_ " Lup snaps, her entire body bouncing like a racer before the Olympics, muscles humming with adrenaline and every fight or flight sense telling her to _fucking fly, bitch._

  
  
Davenport just gives a nod and takes off running past her towards the ship. He hears the sound of her footfalls right behind him, and as the door to the blaster lowers down to the ground and the shadow of someone just inside the door blots out the light spilling out across the night-black grass, the howling of the approaching creatures breaks the treeline behind them. Davenport leaps up onto the ship with Lup on his heels, and as Magnus slams the button to retract the door, the hydraulics pull it back up into its position with a hiss, and the sound of the monsters hitting the other side with a thud reverberates through the metal.

  
  
"Captain?!" Barry blurts at the sight of Davenport, absolutely drenched in the inky black ichor of those creatures.

  
  
"We have to _go_ ," Davenport says, hands clutched together and shaking. "I can't fly, I can't fly like this. Magnus--"

  
  
"On it," Magnus says, already vaulting up the stairs, and just moments later the sounds of the engine whirring to life precedes the lurch of the ship taking off into the sky, leaving the pounding monsters behind them, while Davenport falls to his knees and crouches into a ball, clutching his hair.

  
  
Lup collapses with one shoulder against the wall, chest heaving as she fights to catch her breath. The echo of those thing's howls buzzes in her ears, and as Taako clucks over her and tugs at her, demanding softly to know just what the fuck happened, she can do very little more than shake her head and stare at Davenport, eyes hard.

  
  
"Where'd you guys _go?"_ Merle asks, his voice concerned as much as it was firm, pushing past Barry and weaving between the twins' legs to get at Davenport, kneeling beside him, gentle hands reaching out to assess Davenport for injuries. He ignores the way the gnome flinches away, as if his presence burns him.

  
  
"Don't!" Davenport yanks back from Merle, hunching up and looking at him with wild, terrified eyes. "Don't touch me, I'm not-- don't _touch_ me."

  
  
Lucretia runs down the stairs and nearly skids off the last step in her haste. She grips the railing in both hands, face red, expression tense and afraid. "Where _were_ you?" she levels at Lup, almost accusingly as she looks from Davenport up to the elf. "You were supposed to watch him _here_ , not go out there with him, look at him!"

  
  
Lup snaps out of her reverie at the accusation, and her eyes find Lucretia after a moment, a scowling frown twisted onto her lips, "Yeah," Is all she says, before she shoves away from the wall.

  
  
Weaving through Taako and Merle, Lup goes to Davenport and ignores his protests, hand fitting around his arm, "I'll explain later, we gotta talk," Is all she gives to the concerned, agonized faces of their family, half-lifting, half-pushing Davenport to his feet and maneuvering him around the others as well, swallowing thickly around the knot in her throat.

  
  
"You can't block us outta this, Lup, we need to know what happened so we can--" Merle urges, his voice soft, but serious, a hand reaching up to tug through his beard.

  
  
"Not right now," Lup replies with a similar hard edge to her voice, her grip on Davenport unrelenting, nails sinking into his skin when he tries to jerk away and not allowing him to leave her grip, keeping her hold on him firm as she pushes him toward the hallway, down the hall toward the cargo bay.

  
  
"Stop, stop it!" Davenport yanks at her grip, panic clawing up his throat the longer she touches him. Hsi heels dig into the ground and he frantically tries to dislodge her hand from his arm. "I can walk, let go of me!"

  
  
"Fine!" Lup snaps back, releasing his arm and  staying  just a smidge behind him, still acting as a herding dog, leading him to clean up and diligently keeping him away from the rest of the crew.

  
  
Davenport flattens himself to the wall for just a moment as he looks up at her, like he's afraid she's going to retaliate in some way. When nothing happens, he turns on his heel and rushes down the hall and into the bathroom. He strips his clothes off and just carries them into the shower with him, dropping them on the ground in a wet heap. He'll rinse as much of the ichor out as he can before he burns them, but there's no hope of saving them.

  
  
Immediately he turns the water on as hot as he can stand it, and then turns it up just a little higher, and crouches down to the floor of the shower with his back to the wall, curling up and clutching his knees to his chest while black bile swirls down the drain like ink.

  
  
Lup follows, sticking close behind and managing to slip in before locking the door behind them, watching him undress and crossing her arms heavily over her chest. She doesn't say anything for a long time, even as steam fills the room with fog and sticks to her hair and eyelashes. Even when Davenport slips to the ground, she doesn't speak until she can think of something to even say.

  
  
"What was that?" She whispers. Her voice is surprisingly soft, considering the edge that has been in her motions since Davenport pinned her to the ground earlier. Her eyes go from defensive into something akin to worried, and while she makes no move to join the Captain in the shower, it's obvious that she's worried about him, the muscles of her jaw flexing as she clenches and unclenches her jaw, working the muscle and keeping her eye on him on the ground, the viscera washing off of him in sluggishly thick streams.

  
  
"I don't know," Davenport's voice echoes out of the cave he's built with his arms around his knees, tinny and small, and thick with tears. "I don't know."

  
  
"This can't keep going on," Her voice is a whisper amongst the raining din of the showerhead above, but it doesn't entirely matter-- she isn't saying anything they don't already know. "What-- What got into you? What were you thinking?" It was said without judgement, at least, just abject curiosity.

  
  
"I don't know," Davenport repeats, and finally lifts his head to wipe at his face, and when his hands come back with black slime on them, he sticks his face under the hot spray to scrub it off. "I wasn't thinking. I stopped thinking. It was just... instinct, I don't know. I don't know anything. Please, just... I just need to be alone for a few minutes. Go tell the crew what happened. Don't lie to them, don't sugar coat it. They need to know what happened. And we need to know if they found out anything useful."

  
  
There's another silence from Lup that stretches entirely too long, and when she moves, it's to push off the wall with a set jaw and raised chin, "I'm locking you in here," She says, "Don't drown yourself." Lup leaves before he can respond to complain or agree. Either way, she punches in her code to lock the bathroom from the outside, wedging a makeshift doorjamb in the other side when her brain reminds her Davenport could open the door with his code from the inside.

  
  
Rubbing her hand over her face, Lup makes her way back to the deck, despite the gnawing feeling of uncertainty in her gut at leaving Davenport to shower unsupervised and alone, "So," She chimes from the door, already seeing the rest of the crew huddled by the Captain's chair, conversing quietly amongst themselves and going quiet at Lup's arrival, "Learn anything good?"

  
  
"Did _we_ learn anything?" Lucretia speaks up first. She's clearly the most distressed out of all of them by the captain's condition. "You were supposed to _keep_ him here, it was your only job. He _chose_ you--"

 

"If you have something to say--" Lup starts, but Lucretia is already cutting her off at the pass.

 

Tearfully with a wavering voice she points at Lup. "If I'd been here, he'd still _be_ on this ship, not covered in blood and traumatized and--"

  
  
Merle reaches out and puts a hand on her arm, before she gets too heated and shakes his head, looking up at Lup. "You first. What happened?"

  
  
Lup frowns as Lucretia goes off, but she doesn't say anything. She doesn't argue against Lucretia, doesn't argue for herself, and again she lapses into one of those thoughtful silences she can't seem to shake. It's only when she looks up to see the Crew's eyes on her that she clears her throat, shrugging, noncommittally.

  
  
"It's my fault," She admits, openly and freely, "I couldn't just stay cooped up in here while you guys were out there helping. He couldn't give me a reason why I had to stay behind, and I got frustrated, so... I told him we should go. I thought we'd make it in time to slip  into the tavern and we'd spend the night interviewing patrons, I didn't think we'd be one minute late and barred entrance."

  
  
"But then what happened?" Barry presses cautiously.

  
  
"Cap came in looking like a monster," Taako agrees, crossing his arms. "Screaming about not touching him. Something happened between then and now."

  
  
"Yeah, well, it's like I said, we  got barred entrance and it was dark and some of those things came at us, but like--" Lup's eyebrows furrow as she remembers their words, the sickening sneer to their voice as they jeered and circled them like prey, "They were talking. They were the monsters, like what got Dav, but not, they were... civilized, almost." Emphasis on the almost, Lup thinks, remembering the way they bartered. Not really civilized at all, really.

  
  
"And then?" Magnus prompts quietly.

  
  
She sticks to the far wall and doesn't look at any of them, each gaze as  accusatory as  the last, "They wanted to drink from me. Dav went...." Her breath leaves her in one long, heavy stream, "He went crazy. Tore them apart."

  
  
"That's not a good sign," Barry says softly, shaking his head as he looks between Lup and the others. "We found out... a lot. About what those things are. What they call them, what they are. Apparently not everyone who gets bit gets sick like uh, like the Cap, but... when that does happen, it's... cause they're turning into one of them."

  
  
"It's an entire race of people that... aren't born, they get  transmitted virally," Lucretia adds, wringing her hands together. "Like a disease."

  
  
"And there's no cure?" Lup urges, eyebrows furrowing as she looks from Barry to the solemn faces of the others. She can already see the answer on their faces, "How can there be no cure, those things are everywhere. They're monsters, you heard them throwing themselves against the ship, how can they not have a cure for that?" She sounds indignant, as if she'd been living with this problem for much longer than the few months they'd been on the plane.

  
  
"They've tried everything. Medicine. Magic," Merle shakes his head. "They call them vampires. They said there's two kinds of those things. The kind you ran into are the 'Uprights' and they can walk and hold conversations, they have their faculties and their reasoning skills, they wear clothes and have their own societies away from the rest of the people."

  
  
"The kind that attacked the captain are called Ferals," Lucretia wipes at her eyes, sniffling. She's started to cry, softly. "They can't talk, they don't wear clothes, they run around on all fours and they behave like animals."

  
  
"The people here don't know if they're different races entirely, or if there's some kind of progression of the disease. If all the uprights turn into ferals one day, when they've been sick long enough," Magnus can't seem to look up at Lup now.

  
  
"Cool, so I guess I'll say the thing we're all thinking," Taako sighs, shifting his weight onto his other foot. "If the cap got turned by a Feral, and he's turning into one of those things, we can't keep him with us."

  
  
"Stop," Lup says before anyone else can chime in, one way or another, "You go down that path and it leads us to two options-- either we abandon the Cap somewhere on the planet alone, or we kill him ourselves. So unless you're gonna chomp at the bit to volunteer, there's gotta be a third option."

  
  
"We can't just keep him here, Lup, he's a danger to all of us," Magnus mutters, and he looks at her only long enough for Lup to return his gaze, and then his head quickly ducks back down.

  
  
Merle shuffles, looking upset, still tugging that hand through his beard roughly, thoughtfully, "He's got a point, kiddo," He murmurs, his voice a gentle rumble in his chest, congested with sorrow.

  
  
"No, look," Lup tightens her arms over her chest, nails digging into the skin of her bicep, "I've been with him all night, right? And more importantly, I'm the one that seems to effect him the most. If he's gone this long without going full cannibal on me, it means he's got a fair fuckin' bit of control, right? So he can't be one of those feral things, which means he's an Upright and he can be reasoned with and still functional for the year, he just needs..." Blood? "He needs to eat," She finishes, somewhat lamely.

  
  
"You said he went crazy tonight," Taako shakes his head. "That's not _control_. I'm not gonna let him turn into some maniac in a tin can in the sky with his targets set on my sister, no way. I _will_ volunteer, if that's what it takes. It's not permanent anyway, we all know it's not." He gestures out at the rest of the family, all with their heads bowed, each too ashamed to say the things only Taako is bold enough to verbalize for them. "He'll be back at the start of the next cycle like always, but if he goes Krueger on us and rips us all to pieces on the ship, that's it for everyone _forever_ in the entire universe, Lup. Just _think_ for a fucking second, will you?"

  
  
"He went crazy on more of those things, not on us," Lup corrects stubbornly, jaw set as she stares her brother down. "Don't you think he's had ample opportunity to go ape on us? He would've by now if he was going to, but he only went crazy when I was threatened. No one on this ship is about to threaten anyone else, are we? Except for you threatening to put him down like a rabid dog."

  
  
It's not that she can't understand where Taako is coming from. She can, actually, pretty clearly-- Which is what makes the situation worse. They'd had this conversation before, putting someone down for the sake of the mission and for their own suffering, but doing so in theory was different in practice.

  
  
"Well, listen, maybe Lup's right," Merle pipes up, not wanting to be the one to step between the twins during a fight but unable to help himself, "Maybe we can get some good to come outta this. If they don't know much about the disease, we could help figure out for sure whether it's a progression thing or a different species thing. Keep 'im close and under watch, and if he turns into one of them Feral fellas we know it's a different species, but if he retains his.... self, then it's a progression thing. Maybe we can do some good."

  
  
"And then what?" Taako gestures angrily at the hall in the direction Lup had come from. "He gets worse, and _then_ we kill him? When he's rabid and monstrous and we have to _fight_ him? Don't you think he deserves the fucking _dignity_ to leave now? I'm not suggesting we come up behind him with a shovel and bludgeon him over the head, we invite him to this fucking table and stop talking about him like he's a _thing_. Knowing him, he _wants_ to go, and if he wants to go who are we to make him stay?"

  
  
"I'm the one talking about him like he's a thing?" Lup snaps, "Someone here has to stand up for us not killing each other the minute shit gets hard, Taako, regardless of how impermanent it might be." They all know that, given what they know, Davenport would absolutely demand to be put down. Hell, he'd already tried on the planet's surface, and that was before they knew about all of that for sure. "You wanna go get him and throw him overboard, be my guest, but I think there's something seriously wrong with us  if we're resorting to killing each other as the first fucking option."

  
  
"It's far from the first option, Lup," Taako says, with a measure of weary sadness in his voice. "It's been, what, three weeks now? Four? We've been able to tell there's something wrong with him from the start, we only just now got a name for it. And we've all been fine with his skulking and his hiding and his weird _shit_ , shit that anyone else would have drawn the line for ages ago. We can handle almost anything for our family, but when it comes to one of us turning into a bloodthirsty monster that goes on murderous rampages? Yeah, I'll throw him overboard. Good of the fucking many, Lup, why do I always have to be the voice of pragmatism with you?"

  
  
"Okay, slow down," Merle holds his hands out. "Before we start going for the jugular. Let's just calm down, and... we'll put it to a vote. Those in favor of fighting this thing to the very last, and those in favor of letting the captain decide for himself. Lup, can I assume your vote's for the former?"

  
  
Lup goes quiet, and half shrugs, half nods, leaning her shoulder against the wall and scowling at the floor. She already knows how this will go, and she doesn't entirely need to be around for it, when it does.

  
  
"And all in favor for--" Merle starts, but Taako's hand is already up. "Letting the captain decide..." Merle finishes, as Magnus, Barry and Lucretia's hands all raise. Merle sighs, shaking his head. "Maybe he'll want to fight it, Lup. You wanna break the news to him?"

  
  
"Guess I ought to, since you'll be the ones killing him," Lup mutters, her voice cold and her words unfair, even to her own ears. She doesn't wait for them to tell her as much before she turns on her heel and leaves, back out the sliding doors of the cabin and back to the bathroom, still sealed as tightly shut as she'd left it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has vampire smut in it, so fair warning!

A part of her is terrified that she'll open the door to find Davenport face down in the bath tub or in a pool of blood with his wrists chewed out, but when she opens the door it's just to the sight of Davenport, wet and shivering and wrapped in a towel sitting on the ground. They hadn't grabbed him a change of clothes, and his old clothes are sitting in a soaked heap in the corner of the shower. He looks up at Lup with tired eyes, ringed red from crying, and he croaks out an exhausted, small,

  
  
"Hey."

  
  
"Hey," she replies.

  
  
Just as Davenport's had, her voice rings dull and tinny inside the quiet bathroom, and Lup slides into the bathroom as the doors shut and click locked behind her. For a moment, she leans against the wall, shoulders apparently heavy with the burden of the world, before they sag and her entire body follows suit. Before long, she's on Davenport's level, sitting on the damp ground, knees up to her chin, arms around her legs. "So they found out a lot," Lup starts slowly, but doesn't elaborate, staring resolutely at her fingers as she picks at a clump of dirt on her knee.

  
  
"What did they say?" Davenport asks, wiping at his face with the corner of the damp towel. "Did they figure out what's going on with me?"

  
  
"Yeah," Lup doesn't look at him for a long time, hair a comforting curtain around her face. "Those monsters out there, they don't reproduce via creation like other kinds. They're made from already-existing people," She lapses into silence before adding, somewhat unhelpfully, "Via bites."

  
  
Davenport is quiet for a long while as he digests this information. He's hearing it for the first time, but on some base level, it feels like a truth he's already known for some time. It doesn't come as a shock to him, neither a relief. It just feels like something he already knew.

  
  
"So I'm turning into one of those things," he says, his tail curling around his ankles. "I'm turning into one of those monsters that tried to eat you tonight."

  
  
"Or into one of those rabid ones that tried to eat _you_ a couple weeks ago," Lup adds, her voice still carefully blanked of emotion, her shoulders hunched as she leans her forehead into her hand and keeps her eyes on Davenport for any sort of reaction.

  
  
Davenport exhales slowly and then nods, rubbing his hands up and down his arms over the towel. "Okay. Okay, okay, then uh... then I really uh. I shouldn't be here, should I?" he looks up at her, licking his lips. "We have no idea how long the window is between when you get bit and when you get turned, so we're already on borrowed time as it is. If we can just uh, if we can just land, I'll find... somewhere. I don't know," he sniffles, and rubs his face with the towel again. "God, I'm so... angry with myself."

  
  
"It's not your fault," Lup mutters immediately, voice hollow. "They want to give you the option to talk about it with them, if you want, but most of them seem to agree with you, I'm the only one that..." She trails off, looking away from the Captain now, into her hands, nails picking at her own cuticles as she, too, lapses into another tense silence. There had been far too many of those recently, and Lup could feel her distaste for the quiet growing with every second. Licking her lips, Lup forces her head up, eyes on Davenport again, "There's a chance you might not go crazy, though, you know. Like those ones tonight, they... yeah, they wanted to eat me, but they seemed rational about it, at least."

  
"Rational," Davenport scoffs a laugh, tugging the towel tighter around himself. He sniffs again and looks up at her. "I feel... okay. For right now. Like I've got my sense, can we-- you wanna take this discussion back to my room? I'd feel better if I could just get a pair of pants on."

  
Her lips twitch into a smile at that, weary and dry as it was, "You don't do your best thinking in the nude?" She drawls, before hoisting herself to her feet. Fingers twitch, again wanting to reach out and help the smaller man before her, but opting not to push her luck. Instead, she waits for him to stand on his own and pull the towel closer around his shoulders before she opens the door and lets him through, holding the door back from closing too soon.

  
As soon as the door opens, they hear a frantic scrabbling, and where the hallway forks in the middle towards the stairs they see a boot disappear around the corner, followed by some manic hushed whispering. Davenport sighs wearily, shaking his head. 

  
"You don't need to hide, guys. And you don't need to eavesdrop. Meeting in my room in five minutes, okay?"

  
After a moment of silence, it seems the hidden boys give up pretending they weren't listening, and Magnus' voice rings out with a tinge of embarrassment, "You got it, boss..."

  
When they stick their noses out to look, Lup glares at them with all the venom she can muster-- which, for the record, is a fucking lot-- and follows a step behind Davenport, hands tucked heavily into her pockets as they wind through the ship to the crew chambers, where Lup hesitates at Davenport's door, "I can wait out here. It's cool," She mutters awkwardly, not wanting to follow him inside like some kind of lost duckling, but also not wanting him to be alone for too long.

  
"You can come in," he says, and she seems relieved that he said it. She follows after him and he drops the towel on the ground to collect some clothing from his dresser. Just a plain tee shirt and a pair of soft sleep pants, enough that he doesn't feel so naked, and then he hops up onto his bed, crawling up to sit at the pillows. He pats the mattress across from him to beckon Lup to sit on the large bed with him, and once she mounts the mattress in front of him, he takes the few moments they have before everyone else shows up to look up at her and murmur, "I'm scared, Lup."

  
"You don't have to do this," Lup whispers, looking over at Davenport like she was sharing a secret, her voice quiet, but urgent. "You don't have to just, go out there and rot. You can always stay here and we'll figure it out, you know that." Even as she spoke, she knew Davenport would rather die alone and sad and scared than put his family even the slightest bit at risk. She does reach out, then, her hand meeting his gently, fingers fitting over his with a soft squeeze, "We'll figure something out for you. Either way. We'll figure something out."

  
"I know," he turns his hands over to take hers, squeezing them in return. 

  
Moments later, the rest of their family shuffle in, looking tired and ashamed and worried. They find spots to sit around the room, Merle and Lucretia on the bed with Lup, Taako up against the wall with his arms crossed, Barry in Davenport's armchair and Magnus near the door. None of them seem to want to start talking first, so Davenport takes the lead.

  
"So. I'm turning into one of those things," he says. 

  
Merle looks around at the others to see if anyone else wants to proceed, but Barry is the only one who doesn't avoid his eye, and he just nods. "We're not sure if it's a matter of turning," Merle says. "There's a chance you've already done the dang thing. You might just be turned. This could be it."

  
"When we were asking around, the locals gave us mixed figures," Lucretia says, flipping her journal open. "Some of them said they saw the change happen as quickly as 48 hours. Others took as long as a month. It seems to be related to how much... of their blood is ingested."

  
  
Davenport exhales slowly and nods. "I remember biting that thing," he says. "When it was on me, I tried to get it off me by biting it. Is that how it infects new hosts?"

  
"That's what everyone said," Barry says, wringing his hands together. "Their bites don't actually transmit the virus, just uh. If you bite them, I guess. Wish we woulda known that from the start, huh?"

  
"That does mean one thing," Magnus says. "If Cap'n'port bites any of us, we won't get infected. It only works if we swallow his blood."

  
Lup's ears twitch at that little morsel of kept knowledge, and she sits up a little, eyebrows furrowing. "Then you could be okay," She says, and ignores the immediate click of Taako's tongue behind her, rolling her eyes and giving him a dirty look, "Not _okay_ , but-- look, like I said, those ones before? They could walk and talk, you guys even said they have their own societies outside of the others, right?" She looks up to Lucretia and Barry, who share a look.

  
"They... do," Barry agrees, "But like we said, that's only for the, uh, the Uprights. The feral ones are just... predators. And if Davenport got turned by one of those and they are a different breed..."

  
"The consequences could be dire," Lucretia finishes, sounding very small as she does, shrinking under the heat of Lup's gaze.

  
Said gaze is quick to fizzle in the face of her sadness, and Lup frowns, "But we don't know that's the case," She argues, "It's been how long, Davenport, and if you really are one of these things, you haven't taken a bite out of any of us. I gotta assume you're hungry, right? That's why being around us is so hard?"

  
As soon as she verbalizes the word 'hungry' Davenport feels that gnawing pit in his stomach roar back to life from where he'd forced it into the back of his mind. He hunches up a little smaller as he feels that black hole inside him grow just a little bit wider. 

  
"Uh, yeah," he says finally when he realizes how many seconds have ticked by since he went quiet. "Yeah, I'm so hungry it's... torture."

  
"So hungry it's torture," Lup repeats, looking at Davenport, then toward Magnus and Taako, nodding, "If he was really turning into one of those feral things, surely he wouldn't be able to withstand torture before he ate, right? So it might be more of a time lapse thing, which we wouldn't even be around long enough to find out."

  
"Time lapse?" Davenport looks up, brows furrowed. 

  
"The locals don't know if the difference between the Ferals and the Uprights is a matter of species, or a matter of time," Barry provides. "I guess they've never captured any for testing. If all the Ferals used to be Uprights, and the Uprights are all destined to turn into Ferals one day, that means you'd start as an Upright. As uh, one of those guys who can talk and make choices and stuff. And if you can make choices, then you can choose to not be, you know. A monster."

  
"The ones we ran into tonight were monsters," Davenport says, shaking his head. "Upright or no."

  
"Who's to say they wouldn't have been monsters if they weren't vampires?" Lucretia says softly. "Some people are just bad, whether they have a knife, or a pen, or a virally transmitted disease."

  
"Or maybe it's a product of their society," Merle offers. "You know, cyclical? Society says they're bad, so they don't try to be anything other than bad cause society won't think of them as anything else, and then since they're never anything else, society only ever sees them being bad, and it goes on like that. Maybe you could break them out of it."

  
"Me?" Davenport shakes his head. "Oh, I don't know about that, I'm just a stranger."

  
Lup scoffs, shaking her head, "As if being a stranger has ever stopped us from helping before," She rolls her eyes, "We've been a stranger on every single plane we've come across, and don't we try, every single time to help, if we can? What would make this time any different?" Lup's back straightens a little, and she looks through the group. 

  
"It feels different," Davenport murmurs, wringing his hands together.

  
"My stance hasn't changed," Lup says, voice firm, "I don't think you should just walk off into the world without at least trying to stay with us, where maybe we can do some good, whether it's to learn more about these creatures or to act as a liasion between them and the other inhabitants. You going off along to hole yourself up in a cave and eat rats for a year is throwing that chance away, and especially if you could theoretically eat without fear of killing us or whatever? Come on."

  
"Eat what?" Davenport shakes his head. "Eat _you?_ I can't, I can't do that to any of you. Even if it isn't how the disease is spread, what if I lose control and-- I don't know, what if I don't stop? What if I kill one of you?"

  
  
"No offense, Cap, but you're like... half most of our size," Magnus grimaces. "I don't think you have enough _room_ in you to drain any of us. Maybe Taako, but he's like wafer thin."

  
  
"Not that I'm even volunteering!" Taako huffs indignantly, "Ch'yeah, no thank you. Taako's blood stays inside Taako, no offense, Cap."

  
  
"No, the Captain's right," Merle agrees, nodding, "If we're considering this, the first time is always going to be the worst, especially since he's now gone so long without indulging. We should take the proper precautions to make sure no one gets hurt."

  
  
"Maybe don't let him bite?" Lup glances at Davenport, "I mean, maybe just for the first time one of us could cut open our hand or something and squeeze it into his mouth, or... open a vein into a glass or something?" She winces at the visual, glancing between the other crew members, "That way it's, like, a set amount. He couldn't go crazy and drain us more if he wanted to 'cause he doesn't have control over it."

  
  
Davenport wrinkles his nose. "The idea of drinking blood still has me pretty... freaked, actually," he admits. "Even if I have some kind of virus telling me to pursue that, the idea of actually doing it is... very unappealing. It... seems gross, right?"

  
  
"A little gross," Lucretia agrees with a small smile, hoping to encourage one from the captain in turn.

  
  
It works, Davenport gives a self-depricating little smile and shakes his head. "In any case, I don't... think I want an audience. It's gonna be weird enough already without being put under a microscope about it. If I could just, uh... Lup?" he looks up at her hopefully, licking his lips. "You wanna... I guess, do this? Magnus can stay outside the door, and you call for him if things break bad, and he'll come... put me through the floor, I guess."

  
  
Lup's ears twitch up at the call to action, and she can feel her stomach clench with anticipation, and she nods, looking up to meet Taako's concerned frown with a little reassuring nod. She'll be okay. Davenport's bitten her before, and if they don't even do the biting thing it wouldn't even be that big of a deal, right? "Yeah, Mag's got a pretty good handle on my noises by now, don'tcha big guy?" She drawls, looking over her shoulder at the fighter and grinning, sharklike, back at him. She's putting on a show of nonchalance, the best one she can muster, and it seems to work, a bit.

  
  
At least, it works to make Magnus snort and roll his eyes, despite the otherwise tense atmosphere, "I won't barge in if it sounds like you're having a good time," He promises, solemnly, as the others file out.

  
  
Barry lingers just a beat too long by the door, large hand clutching the frame as his finger taps at it, impatiently, "Be careful," He says finally, after an awkward little moment of silence, "We don't know what happens once you drink for the first time, so uh, try to-- try to err on the side of caution, okay?"

  
  
"Okay. We got it, we're good," Lup promises, giving him a reassuring little smile and blowing him a kiss-- Which he dutifully catches and places to his heart.

  
  
And with that, they're alone, the voices disappearing behind the thick metal door as it slides into place with a click that could very well be deafening in the sudden heavy quiet that hangs over the room like a sheet. Lup plucks at the bed for just a moment, letting the stillness hang in the air, before she literally can't handle it anymore. With a frustrated huff, she tugs at the clasp of her robe and throws it aside, then begins working at the buttons of her jacket, "This is stupid," She mutters, "You've done much worse to me. You're gonna do fine."

  
  
"Yeah, but I've always been in control," Davenport says, unable to watch as she strips nude from the waist up. Hs sniffs, wringing his hands together, and shakes his head. "If I go crazy, you have to get me off. Throw me yourself, get Magnus, make him do it, something. You have to promise me you won't just let me go crazy again, not like before. If I hurt you, if I seriously hurt you, I don't-- it's different when we do it for fun, when we're both present for it, but I can't handle it like this, please, you have to promise--"

  
  
"Hey," Lup's tone is firm, despite being nude save for the cloth band that served as a bra. She raises her hands to his face, cupping his jaw and silencing his mouth, thumbs firm on his cheeks as she holds him steady, "I'm not going to let this go wrong, okay? I'm not looking to die, and I'm not looking to make you my murderer, so just have a little faith in yourself. Or me, if you can't manage the first option." With those words said, she doesn't wait, leaning in to press a gentle, feather-light kiss to his lips.

  
"Okay," he seems to melt into the touch of her hands on his face. He can hear her heartbeat again, pounding in his ears, thrumming and wild. It makes his stomach twist queasily. He's long been past the point of hunger, it's just been painful lately. He's almost afraid to try eating something, he knows it'll hurt going down.

  
  
He offers a claw out, hesitantly, and cups her wrist like he's holding something sacred. He looks up at her face and waits for her to nod, and then finally presses the sharp end of his nail against her skin. It splits easily and immediately spills red over her skin, and instinct takes over. Like one might lean in to catch a drip of ice cream on the side of a cone, or a dribble of milk down the side of a cup, he catches the drop of blood that trickles out of her when it spills from her wrist and nearly drips onto his sheets. 

  
Davenport has tasted Lup's blood before. He has such a habit of biting to show affection that he's tasted the blood of _every_ IPRE member by now, and they all taste relatively the same. That thick, coppery flavor like sucking on a new penny, bright and sour on his tongue. But when he tastes her blood now, he's hit with a full-body reaction, like he was seized by the lungs and tugged upright. Her blood has layers of flavor now, sweet immediately with a salty undertone, thick and almost creamy on his tongue, and he leans back to look up at her with a dazed, hungry expression.

  
  
"Holy shit," he whispers, his tongue bright red.

  
  
"Good?" Lup asks,  a little breathless herself. She can feel her own pulse in her neck, and she isn't sure if that's due to nerves heightening her awareness, or the general conversation making her more attentive to her own body's pulse. She flattens her palm, then clenches it into another fist, straightening and curling her fingers and summoning more blood to the surface, beading and bubbling up from the shallow incision at her wrist. "Made it just for you. Been working on it for, mm, almost 300 years now."

  
  
Her words are teasing, despite the breathless tone to her voice. Her eyelids fall as she watches him through her lashes, and she tilts her head, eyes sharp on his face. She gives him a nod and raises her wrist to his face. "Go on," She urges, "You're good. Eat."

  
  
Davenport licks his lips and leans in again, dragging his tongue over the little cut in her wrist. The flavor blooms on his tongue again, rich and heady, like biting into a ripe peach. He glances up at her again, and then closes his mouth over the cut and sucks. Immediately a thin layer of blood flows over his tongue like a film and he groans through his nose as he swallows. It goes down smooth and warm, like expensive whiskey, and it burns pleasantly in his stomach.

  
  
He sits back and lets go of her hand, licking over his lips for the remnants of her flavor, and just rests there with his hands in his lap, waiting for... something. Waiting to see if he'll snap, if instinct will take over, if he'll lose his mind now that he's gotten a taste for her, but nothing happens. He just sits there awkwardly looking at her.

  
  
"Okay," he says after a minute of silence. "I think... I think I'm okay?"

  
  
"You're okay?" Lup's shoulders sag with what appears to be visible relief, and her ears twitch forward again in curiosity as her eyes watch the scarlet of her blood coat his tongue his teeth. It takes a couple swallows before Lup can see herself dissipate, and that in itself was weird, like he was savoring it-- Maybe he was, though. That would track.

  
  
Tilting her head, Lup clenches and unclenches her fist again, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she nods, "Okay, well, then. I'm still feeling good, too, so... If you wanted to eat more, you know, you could do that. Honestly, you probably should, since you haven't eaten in literal weeks," Her voice is encouraging, and for the first time in what feels like eons, Lup allows herself to feel hope blooming just behind her sternum. Davenport had eaten from her without going crazy. He still retained his faculties. Which meant he wouldn't have to leave. She felt the stress relieve itself, all the way down to her bones.

  
  
"From the, uh... from the tap?" he asks, eyeing her neck with a warm, simmering hunger in his eyes. There's still that flicker of fear that maybe that just hadn't been enough blood to set him off, but he reminds himself of Lup and Magnus' combined convictions to not let him hurt anyone, and that fear turns into a quiet whisper behind the sharp, furious buzzing of his hunger, his instincts begging him to comply.

  
  
"Oh, you're done with the wrist?" Lup asks, eyebrows raising as she looks him over. He does look hungry, but his eyes are also more clear than they have been since he's been bit, devoid of the glassy reddish-pink hue that's been haunting him since that night. Pressing her palm over her arm, she holds the skin together as she shakes hair off of her shoulder and over the opposite, leaving a clean, bare expanse of throat visible. "Yeah, baby, if you're good, you're good. Bon Appetit."

  
  
"Oh, I mean uh, if you uh--" Davenport's protests die on his tongue as he watches her throat bare itself to him, and he loses the will to even chase the other half of his sentence. The smell of her blood is still wafting up into his nose, reminding him of the incredible flavor, reminding him of the painful hunger. Gulping wetly, he nods and crawls forward, and then pushes on her shoulders until she lays back on the bed.

  
  
Straddling her waist, Davenport sits on her lower belly and just takes a moment to look at her, splayed out and beautiful on the pillows, and his stomach does an entirely different kind of flip than it's been doing for weeks. He reaches down to cup her cheek and rubs his thumb over her cheekbone, his claw nearly grazing her eye.

  
  
"You know I love you," he murmurs, his voice tight with hunger and emotion. He has to get it out now, just in case something bad does happen. As if she doesn't already know.

  
  
"I love you too," She whispers, eyes fluttering open to match his gaze with hers.

  
  
Lup turns her head into his palm, eyes slipping shut as she lets her shoulders sink into the mattress. She feels calm. At ease, finally, after so many days of uncertainty and worry and  quiet, repressed guilt. She savors the knick of his claw gently across her cheek, savors every rough scratch of calloused fingers against smooth skin. She savors his touch like it was a fine wine, drinking in his words like a glutton, and with a breath her shoulders sag further, and her throat is bared, stretched taut like a cat basking in the sun.

  
  
Davenport leans down, hunched over her frame, but it feels wrong to just bite right in without some kind of... bite foreplay? Is that a thing? It feels like it should be a thing, so he kisses first, and then again. He kisses softer, opening his mouth against her throat, his tongue brushing her skin before he kisses, leaving tiny damp spots as he kisses up the length of her neck to her ear. He can feel her heartbeat on his tongue as he licks a stripe up the tendon tracing from ear to collarbone, and he grips her shoulders and rubs circles into them with his thumbs as he scrapes the side of her neck with just the hint of teeth.

  
  
His hunger burns, but it isn't the desperate, fiery starvation of before. This feels like whetting his appetite, like anticipation of the bite. It feels like an appetizer.

  
  
A shudder races down Lup's spine, she squirms and tilts her head. The skin of her throat remains taut to the point that her Adam's apple bobs with the sudden, thick swallow around the worry still working its way out of her throat. It seeps into her belly, that tight bundle of nerves, and despite how much she  breathes and forces her shoulders back and her chest even, that concern is still there.  A fluttering sigh leaves her, unbidden, as the stubble across his jaw elicits a breathless  shiver to wreck her body, fingers raising to clench in his shirt, coiling into a fist as she holds him close. He still doesn't bite, and his lack of motion actually makes Lup hiss and squirm, the fingers in his shirt relentless, refusing to move, keeping him from going too far without feeling her incessant, demanding tug.

  
  
When Davenport first bites in, he could have been told he died and went to heaven, and he would have believed it. His gnomish teeth have always been sharp, but they're more made for tearing than slicing. Used to be if he wanted to break the skin, he'd have to apply a lot more pressure to Lup's skin, and it would leave behind one hell of a bruise for weeks. But now like this, with his teeth transformed as  they are, they pierce her skin with barely a whisper of effort. Her skin gives a satisfying little pop as it breaks for his fangs, like the casing of a quality sausage (and part of him still feels queasy and guilty for comparing her to food in his mind, but really isn't that exactly what they're doing here?)

  
  
Her blood bursts from the wounds where his teeth have lodged, keeping the channels open and flowing, and it fills his mouth in a flood that makes his entire body go taut. He lets it fill his mouth, hot and thick and rich like the texture of melted ice cream, before he finally swallows. As the first real mouthful of blood flows through his system, his senses and nerves all immediately buzz to life like putting his tongue to a livewire.

  
  
If Davenport was feeling like a livewire, Lup's body goes warm as if she's suddenly been enveloped in cotton. Even the sound in her ears turns muffled and hazy, as the world seems to suddenly be far away. Her stomach drops as her blood spills from her, and yet somehow she can feel everything in HD, the graze of his teeth like razors within her, the suckle of his lips at her throat, all in perfect, unending clarity. The only noise she makes to finally being bitten is a quiet little gasp, lips parted, the fingers in Davenport's shirt loosening before outright letting go, bumped open by just the slightest amount of pressure.

  
  
Davenport keeps his lips sealed to her throat so her blood doesn't spill out over his quilts, and so he doesn't waste a drop. He sucks, and blood fills his mouth a second time, and instinct kicks in as he finds a rhythm. Suck, pull, swallow, suck, pull, swallow. His throat feels slick and hot, coated with the one thing he didn't realize he needed so desperately. 

  
It feels _intimate_ , doing this. It feels so raw, he and Lup have been together for so many years and on so many levels, but he's never literally fed from her body before. He's never drank from her and taken sustenance from her like a battery, he's always needed her to survive but he's never _needed her to survive_. Technically he supposes he could drink from any of them, but something feels particularly right about drinking from Lup, on a level he can't explain.

  
  
Barry had spoken about Vampires before. Hell, every species had some sort of lore about bloodsucking monsters that would attack you in the night, but across every plane they had been just that-- lore. Ghost stories to scare children into being in bed and eating garlic and onions. They'd been fantasy. In all Barry's theorizing, he'd always said that being bitten would have to induce some sort of effect on the victim, paralysis, or arousal, something to make them want to be bitten, even. But that wasn't this, not really.

  
  
Her mind goes calmly blank, but she isn't thoughtless. Her limbs go heavy and slow, but she isn't paralyzed. She can move and think, but the more resounding thought that echoes in her brain is _Why?_ She doesn't need to move, or fight, or worry. She doesn't need to think about if Davenport is okay. Of course he's okay. Her eyes slip shut as Davenport works, and Lup can't help the slow, languid stretch that rises down her shoulders. They arc and stretch back as her head cants further to the side, leaving more than ample room for Davenport to climb into, and on.

  
  
The most she manages is a slow swipe of her tongue across her lips, and a light, high-pitched sigh, dreamy and contented, as she doesn't even begin to stop him from drinking as much as he damn well pleases.

  
  
He drinks until his stomach cramps and then drinks a little more, just for the pleasure of it. He finally pulls away when it's more pain than pleasure to keep swallowing and he sits up, clamping his palm over the wounds in the side of her neck so they don't keep bleeding all over his bed. His mouth is dyed bright red, his teeth pink and shiny and his stomach slightly swollen, but most demanding is his absolutely rock solid cock, pressed up against her belly through his sweat pants.

  
  
"You good?" he says, his voice thick and wet from drinking.

  
  
" _So_ good."

  
  
Lup's eyelids are heavy as she looks up at him through her lashes. Her limbs feel thick, her brain feels thick. Everything about her moves as if through a slurry fog, her thoughts slow, her motions slower. Something tight in her clenches at the sight of him, red and wet and swollen from her blood, drunk on it, like she was on him. She licks her lips and shifts her shoulders up and forward, leaning toward him a little clumsily. It was hard, to prop herself up like this, but in this moment? There was very little she wouldn't do for him, fighting every muscle in her body to actually clutch the fabric of Davenport's shirt between her fingers, refusing to let him stray very far.

  
He belches wetly and then laughs breathlessly, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. "Excuse me," he says and swallows hard before leaning in to claim her mouth in a kiss. She can taste her blood on his tongue, he knows she can, but with the intensity that she kisses him back, she doesn't seem to care. Her tongue clips his sharp teeth and his cock ruts against her belly as he grinds his hips in little circles, and he growls into her mouth. He feels vital for the first time since he was attacked, he feels whole and substantial and powerful.

  
  
Breaking the kiss he crawls backwards off her lap and coaxes her legs open. They always open easily for him, but this time they seem to fall with a certain sort of comfortable heaviness, and he works her sweats and panties off her thighs, tossing them to the floor so she's completely naked under him. He runs his hands down her belly and grips her hips, and as he kisses his way down her stomach, despite the fullness of his own, he can't help the urge to bite her a second time, in the meat of her inner thigh, opening her vein there for him to drink from.

  
  
Blood pools into his mouth a second time, and the thick muscle of Lup's thigh clenches and relaxes, jerking under his bite as more blood seeps from her, slowly and sluggishly. Lup's head tilts back and her eyes flutter shut, breathing deep and long as his lips clamp over her a second time and that familiar draw of her blood from its veins reaches her ears with a dull roar. "Davenport," She whispers his name like a prayer, one heavy hand lifting to settle in his hair and nails twitching tight to scrape against his head and draw him closer.

  
  
He fits into her like a glove, almost impossibly warm now, where before he was so cold. In contrast, she feels it now, the slow creep of cold edging into her veins. It does little to make her stop him. In truth, she doesn't care. There are very few thoughts flitting in her head, and Lup is more than happy to squint at none of them.

  
  
Instead, she arches her back and rolls her hips forward, marveling at how soft his hair was in her hand, at the hard edge to his teeth against the smooth skin of her thigh, each little knick of his canines making her entire body shiver and twitch, melting beneath him as her breath leaves her in wet, crooning moans.

  
  
His stomach cramps worse as he forces more liquid into the withered organ, and he pulls away much quicker the second time, overfull and heavy and comfortable. He licks the wound on instinct, and something in his saliva encourages the wounds to clot, seeping only a little down her thigh as he leans out over her, his cock hanging just as thick and heavy as his stomach.

  
  
"Grab the lube," he jerks his head towards the side table, and she reaches up lazily to grab it, knocking over a box of tissues to the ground in the process that has them both giggling. He leans up to kiss her again as he coats his fingers, and he carefully fits his blunt claws through her rim as he opens her with two fingers and licks languidly into her mouth, feeling just as slow and relaxed as she is, though his is from overeating while hers is from bloodloss. He's sure Barry and Merle will help with that after this.

  
  
The moan that drags from her as his fingers settle into her is downright primal, and Lup sucks in heavy breath as he sinks in to the final knuckle. There's not enough in her to bear down on him, not enough to rut into his palm, despite the powerful twitch of her cock against the crook of her hip. There's not even enough blood in her for her arousal to stand on end, though that doesn't seem to deter her at all, the occasional slow, languid roll of her hips into his palm enough to encourage his fingers forward and upward more, bringing him deeper, keeping him seated inside of her.

  
  
Her tongue slips from her mouth to drag against his lip. He tastes like copper and salt, sweat and iron. She's on his tongue, on his teeth, his lips, and she can taste all of herself there, making her ears sing and her stomach twist in her gut. Lup's legs open wider, greedily, as a hand slips to his hip and digs in, nails bitingly unrelenting as she pulls his hips forward into the warm cove made of her thighs, "Fuck me," She whispers, impatiently, looking up at Davenport with those eyes still glassy from hypnotic venom and bloodloss, "I wanna feel--" She doesn't finish her sentiment, Davenport's fingers crooking cruelly inside of her and making her lurch forward with a jerking moan, entire body going rigid.

  
  
He nods in agreement to the sentiment and pulls his fingers out, quickly stroking his cock with the leftover wetness. He bites her lower lip with his flat front teeth as he presses the blunt head against her soft hole, and then with just a bit of pressure he's gliding into her, right to the last inch. His forehead drops to her shoulder and he sighs into her neck, licking over the little coppery marks on her throat, just to feel the zing against his tongue.

  
  
" _Fuck_ , Lup," he whispers, claws digging into her hips as he grips her there and grinds into her, his stomach clenching with pleasure. "Still with me? Still good?" he props up on his elbows to look down at the sluggish woman, wreathed in pillows and flushed in patches wherever the blood can manage to collect beneath her skin.

  
  
It takes her a while to answer directly. Davenport's claws leave blunted crescent moons against her skin, and his voice sounds like something primal, rough and thick with overindulgence and hunger and lust, to hear those words in that voice, levelled to her? Her stomach dropped to her knees, her hips twist and her hole flutters and squeezes around him, eager for him to move, eager to prove just how good she is.

  
  
Everything is just the slightest bit fuzzy, just the slightest bit overblown-- the lights behind them radiate out, swathing Davenport with a golden-white halo, making him almost hard to look at amongst the sheer amount of feeling filling her. It makes it hard to speak, her eyes slipping shut as her body adjusts to his cock seated inside of her to the brim. The familiar burn of a rushed preparation stings and makes her mewl, pathetic and brokenly, but Lup has never been one to mind a bit of pain with her pleasure. This time, of all times, is no exception.

  
  
"I'm good," She manages, finally, after what seems like entirely too long, "Good, good, good..." And her eye opens, a little spark of something there enough to make her lips curl into a self-satisfied little grin, "You're not fucking me, though," Lup's words were a challenge, and judging by the way those hands on her hips suddenly dig in enough as if they might pierce her, they didn't go unheeded.

  
  
He grins, pink fangs on display, colored with her blood, and he obliges. Grunting with effort, ignoring his bellyache he begins to fuck into her, clawed toes digging into the quilts for purchase as he snaps his hips forward and against her. Their skin immediately sets to slapping in a rhythm, his bed groaning with effort as it taps against the wall.

  
  
Leaning out over her, he supports himself on one hand at her shoulder and grips her hip with the other hand, bending her nearly in half to be able to reach all of her. Her legs are spread wide and elevated for him, to give him all the room he needs to absolutely nail her into the fucking mattress. His fangs are bared, mouth slack with pleasure as every pound of flesh against flesh sends bliss coiling in his stomach.

  
  
"Fuck, Lup," he growls louder, gasping her name like a prayer. It feels like a breath of fresh air to be with her like this again after so many weeks of tepid uncertainty.

  
  
"Yeah," she whimpers, nodding as each strike bears down into her, each rut of his hips snapping up and into her and jolting her higher and higher onto the bed. It's all she can do to hold on, one hand twisting in his hair, the other grabbing at his ass. He threatens to slip out a bit too occasionally for her liking, his thrusts going long and deep. But she keeps him steady, keeps him close, and she can feel his cock in her throat, a pounding, unrelenting strike that forces the breath from her lungs and allows her only enough air to whimper and mewl.

  
  
With what feels like a tremendous effort, Lup's legs twitch, then shift, finally wrapping around his waist and hooking, one foot crooking around the other and locking into place. It's just enough to draw him flush against her, his hips meeting hers with a wet smack. The change in angle makes her head tip back and a dragging moan leave her lips from somewhere deep in her chest. She barely feels the fire pooling in her belly, her brain foggy and everything muted-- but even that she feels, his cock plunging deep inside of her to strike that bundle of nerves at her core and send her fingers scrambling for purchase on his skin, his hair, anywhere she can hold onto as she dissolves into a quivering mess of pleasure at his hands.

  
  
His bliss is mounting quicker than he would like, but judging by the frenetic clip of Lup's tired heart, and the cadence of her whimpering, he can tell she isn't honestly too far behind him. He reaches between them to grip her half-hard cock, throbbing in his grip with her heartbeat, but too lazy and anemic to actually plump up completely. Nevertheless he tugs her, rubbing his thumb over the head as he slams into her, filling her with rough, dragging strokes.

  
  
"Gonna come, Lup," he pants, his stomach tensing up in knots as his orgasm starts to buzz in his pelvic floor, every nerve ending all firing off at once with his approaching bliss.

  
  
His hand nearly drives every conscious thought from her head, and Lup's entire body shudders as her hips give a jerking thrust forward, into his palm, "Good," She whispers, voice a dry moan as she fights to keep herself steady and her loud enough to actually be heard, "Come inside." She wants to feel him fill her, as she filled him. She wants all of him, his body above her, his cock buried in her ass.

  
The sound she makes as Davenport's thrusts go wild and off-tempo is practically a sob. With a cry of Davenport's name, her toes around his waist twitch, and she becomes a conduit for his pleasure. He fucks into her deep and wild, the bed groaning with creaking slaps, matched only by Lup, herself, and his hand jerks heat into her stomach and static into her brain. "Fuck," Her words are a quiet plea, hungry and broken, stomach coiling with pleasure as she lets herself be used by him.

  
He breathes out hard through his nose and then comes with a surprising quietness, his face and ears going red with blood, with her blood, as he comes inside of her, filling her with thick, heavy jets of seed. His thighs tremble with effort as his knees lock and he holds himself inside to the hilt, and then with a breathy grunt he relaxes on top of her for just a moment, just long enough to take a few breaths, before he grinds his softening cock into her and tugs at her cock. 

  
"Come on, babe," his voice has gone gravelly from growling, hoarse and deeper than usual. "I know you're almost there, it's your turn."

  
  
The touch is almost too much. She's filled with him, her hole fluttering wetly around the cock slowly softening in her ass, and she revels in the feeling. Her stomach twitches and jerks, clenching as she bears down onto his hand. Her hips jerk forward, lackluster and haphazard, and she lets out a quiet, grunting groan as he works her limp, flushed cock.

  
  
"I'm gonna," She warns, without any particular smoothness, her words ending with her pathetically thrusting forward. "I'm gonna, I'm gonna--" And his hand twists and fists her in earnest, calloused palm slicking over her with a thick, velvety glide, leaving Lup to fuck his palm like it was something else entirely. 

  
When she comes, it takes her by surprise with a shout-- her entire body seizes, the fire in her belly jolts into her brain, and all at once waves of pleasure crash onto her. Her body shakes, her thighs go tight, her vision dark, and she comes harder than she remembers to date, hot thick ribbons coating Davenport's palm and her own chest, leaving her to actually cry in pleasure, a sob wrenching from her throat as she finds relief at last and loses herself to the throes of it.

  
  
Her orgasm folds over itself again and again in endless cycles of pleasure, and it seems as though she'll be lost in it forever, the venom swirling in her system making every synapse in her brain short circuit all at once, and she falls to pieces with the pleasure. Her voice goes hoarse wailing and her limbs all tremble like she's being electrocuted, before finally after several long moments, she sags boneless and exhausted onto the quilts.

  
  
"Wow," Davenport whispers in awe, breathing hard as he watches her twitch lazily under him as painful bolts of oversensitive aftershocks wrack her, like being poked with a cattle prod.

  
  
She doesn't say anything for a long time. It would be worrying if Davenport couldn't still hear the fluttering beat of her heart-- weak, and obviously frantic as it comes down from her orgasm, but it's still strong and steady in its way. Her body is thrumming and humming as she stares, wordlessly up at the ceiling, taking slow, gasping breaths as her body calms down. And when she finally does vocalize something, it isn't words at all but a quiet, breathless, giggle.

  
He echoes her giggle just a second later with one of his own, and he slips out of her in order to crawl up to her side, and he rests his forehead against hers, looping his arm over her waist. 

  
"I guess I'm uh, I'm good after all huh?" he says, licking his lips for one last little lingering taste of her. "Who knew all I needed was to have something to eat."

  
"I told you so," Lup's voice is a murmur, and she turns to tuck her nose into his jaw, eyes fluttering shut as she manages just the faintest ghost of a smile-- It's about all she can manage. "Knew you wouldn't become one of those things," She adds, voice surprisingly firm. Her eyelids droop, her body going heavy-- well, heavier-- and after a long moment of basking in the afterglow, Lup is still incapable of saying anything other than, " _Fuck_."

  
  
"I know what you mean," he kisses her temple as he wedges the blankets out from under her, tugging them up over them both. They're sticky and a little gross, but honestly they're both so completely satisfied that they couldn't care to do it tonight.

  
  
Davenport sleeps better that night than he has in weeks. 

 

 

  
===

 

 

  
Some strange part of Davenport had naively hoped that by morning, his affliction would be cured. That somehow by feeding the beast it would be satisfied, and he would wake up normal. It isn't, and he doesn't, but he and Lup carry about their business as usual anyway. They take a shower together, something much needed after spending the night in their filth, and he sits with her as she prepares breakfast for herself-- a nice rare steak, to help her make up for all the iron she lost last night. Not the most typical of breakfast foods, but she more than earned it.

  
  
As he sits across from her in the lounge with the shades pulled well down over the windows, the others slowly trickle and filter in, and an odd sort of electricity builds in the room. The others are all clearly looking at them, but only out of the corners of their eyes, like they're afraid to be caught looking at their own family. They clearly have questions, concerns and so on, but they're too afraid to speak up, like they might break some kind of spell if they do.

  
  
Davenport just catches Lup's eye from across the table and offers her a little smirk, asking her with  his eyes if they should let the family dangle until one of them finally gathers enough courage to speak first, or if they should break the silence first.

  
  
When their eyes meet, Lup can barely stop the self-satisfied little snort that leaves her as she drags her finger across the lip of her glass. She watches them filter in, calmly attempting to make eye contact with each and every last one of them until even her brother offers her a very careful, glazed look in lieu of actual connection. Only then does the scoff actually leave her lips, and she rolls her eyes dramatically, fixing Davenport with a familiar look.

  
  
The tension in the air is palpable for a long moment, questions dangling in the air, but it is, ultimately, Lup who breaks the silence first with a short cough, scooting her butt farther up on the bench before she leans forward. Settling her chin on her palm, she looks at the small gallery of observers. "I'm not dead, in case anyone's curious," Lup drawls, her voice dry and a little rough, considering the night before.

  
  
That seems to be the invitation that they were looking for, as they all drift closer once Lup breaks the silence. "Were you able to maintain control?" Barry asks first, sitting on the bench beside Lup.

  
  
"Yeah, I never lost it," Davenport says.

  
  
"So does that mean he's not turning into one of those monsters?" Lucretia asks softly, leaning her hip against the side of the table.

  
  
"I think it must," Merle nods. "That could be a major discovery for the people on this plane."

  
  
"It means you can stick around without hurting anyone," Taako says bluntly, crossing his arms and offering an awkward little smile.

  
  
Lup laughs, a bit breathlessly and a bit dry, as she takes a long drink and resumes eating, voraciously hungry and happy the tension seemed to have broken a bit with her words, "Yep, we won't have to chuck him overboard," She agrees, but without any heat or sneer in her voice toward her brother, giving him a wink to show he was a teasing, a gesture he seems to appreciate with just the slightest sag of his shoulders.

  
  
"Have you noticed anything cool yet?" Magnus asks, sounding very much like a quietly excited kid, asking a question he'd clearly been holding onto for quite some time, "We should totally spar, I bet you could pick me up after all that last night."

  
  
Davenport can't help but laugh. "I can move a lot faster," he says as he leans in on his elbows. And as he begins to recount for Magnus the changes he's noticed in his body, in both anatomy and physiology, and as the rest of his family gathers around to listen, he finds himself actually growing in excitement for what the next year might hold.

  
  
Sure, he might not be able to go out in the sunlight, which will make finding the light of creation a hassle since he'll only be able to fly the ship at night when the cockpit isn't flooded with sunlight, but when they find the light (and he's sure it's when, he has a good feeling about this cycle) he'll be able to give the people of this world a wealth of knowledge about the creatures they fear the most. And with any luck, that'll eventually foster peace between the two races, if not total harmony.

  
  
And, if nothing else, he knows this cycle is going to make a damn good story. 


End file.
